


Clustertale

by TrashTheater



Series: Clustertale [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Body Sharing, Casual Prostitution, Clustertale, Crossover, Dancetale, Fellswap Purple, Hive Mind, HorrorTale, M/M, Mental Connections, OT8, PapyrusEdgeStretchSlimCashTangoSugarCoffee, Polyamorous relationship, Sense 8 - Freeform, Sexual Assault, Soulmates, Swapfell, Swapfell GOLD - Freeform, Transphobia, Underfell, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashTheater/pseuds/TrashTheater
Summary: Most people spend their whole lives searching for that “certain someone.” That “special person.” The one meant just for them. Their one and onlySoulmate.Papyrus didn’t have one of those. He didn’t get a “special person.” He didn’t have “another half.”He didn’t have that one,  single soulmate meant just for him and him alone....He hadsevenof them.✧Injustice runs rampant in the seedy underbelly of Hong Kong. From the streets to the court corruption is rooted in every level of the legal system, and Edge has seen it all time and again. He’d taken an oath and since the law couldn’t be trusted to protect its people, Edge had no choice but to take matters into his own hands.But that was easier before the others appeared. Now, he was distracted. Leading a double life was one thing; balancing eight was another. He had a job to do, a city to protect…...but maybe protectingthemwas more important.✧✦Sugar—[This is going to take a while…](Actual words: 17738)
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale)
Series: Clustertale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147118
Comments: 59
Kudos: 44





	1. Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> Sugar has always fallen in love in an instant. A kind word, a gentle smile, even a look that lingered for longer than normal and his fragile soul would race like a hummingbird. He’d trip over his own hope, wondering if they’d actually noticed him, if that kindness had meant something. 
> 
> But it never did. Sugar was too weird, too awkward, too… damaged... for those feelings of his to ever be returned... 
> 
> And certainly… never by more than one person.
> 
> ✧✦✧
> 
> Life had always given Coffee the short end of the stick, battering him from bad-situation to worse one. Like he was rolling head-first down an escalator, each step another opportunity he failed to catch himself on. He thought the only way it could end was with his dust at the bottom.
> 
> [ _…He wasn’t expecting to be saved…_ ]
> 
> Now, all he wants to do is thank them the only way he knows how, but they won’t let him. Why won’t they just let him pay them back?
> 
> ✧✦✧✦
> 
> When Blue calls, Stretch insists he’s fine. He laughs, and never once mentions how soulless their home feels without him. He insists the loneliness isn’t crushing every ounce of HoPe he had left, and that the empty rooms aren’t a constant, aching reminder of his brother's absence.
> 
> He promises that he’s still taking his medication. 
> 
> Which is true. 
> 
> Now. 
> 
> After all, it’s hard to be lonely with so many different voices in his head. 
> 
> And they’re all real sticklers about him skipping his meds.
> 
> ✧✦✧✦✧
> 
> Slim is a killer.
> 
> Which is fine. It’s what he knows; it’s all he’s good for. He’s never minded getting his hands dirty and besides, he’s too broken for anything else.. He deserves to be alone. There’s no room left in his soul for love when it’s so full of LOVE. 
> 
> The others didn’t need someone like him.
> 
> [ _Except that they do. And by **god** does he need them too._]
> 
> ✧✦✧✦✧✦
> 
> If the world is a stage, then every moment is the chance to prove yourself. There are no rehearsals and no time to dwell on mistakes. The past can’t be changed, so missteps must be evaded from the start—but if they weren’t, your only choice is to move forwards and make the next scene better than the last.
> 
> Tango has never let himself breathe. Time spent relaxing is time that could be spent practicing, teaching at the studio, volunteering in the community, or being there for friends, family, and neighbors when they needed him. 
> 
> Now the pressure was on and there was no room for slip ups. This was a _second chance_. And this time, he would be perfect. 
> 
> He couldn’t lose them too.
> 
> ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧
> 
> Money is power and Cash… Cash could never get enough of that power. After all, he didn’t have anything else. No friends, no family, just a sea of nameless faces passing through on the shitty train that was his shitty life.
> 
> That was until the seats around him started filling up; with seven faces he wanted to see every day and seven names that he couldn’t get enough of. Seven people to _love_ , seven people to _cherish_ , seven people to _protect_. 
> 
> Seven people who want to love him _back._
> 
> [ _Cash felt like he was going to burst._ ]
> 
> ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

The first time Papyrus noticed something strange, it had been on a perfectly normal, routine trip to the grocery store. 

He’d been rooting through the produce bin at the time, seeking out only the most refined tomatoes for his sauce, when he had the distinct sensation that someone had called his name and—naturally—looked up in response. 

No one _had_ called his name, that he knew immediately. The grocery store was usually empty at that time of day, aside from a couple of employees and a few stragglers who worked odd hours, like himself. Besides, if someone had called him: he certainly would have heard it. His hearing was one of his top twenty finest features! 

But he hadn’t heard anything.. It only _felt_ it. That someone had called him. Specifically. By name. 

Either way, he decided it was a good thing he’d followed his instincts, because there was someone standing across from him, staring—rather pointedly—in his very direction. 

It was another skeleton monster, hands clasped in front of them, hope written into every crack on their skull. They looked tired, exhausted really, which was further accented by the way their sockets drooped, but mostly they just looked unabashedly proud, and delighted by Papyrus’s general state of just being there… while making very direct, uncomfortable eye contact. 

Feeling every ounce of that awkward tension, Papyrus shot a look to both sides and over his shoulder, hoping to find the someone-who-wasn’t-him that the monster was probably actually looking at. He didn’t know them, after all. He had definitely never seen this monster before, and he had an impeccable memory—another of his many talents. 

Yet, they weren’t… unfamiliar. And when Papyrus found no one around and looked back, he wasn’t too surprised to find the not- _not_ -familiar monster still staring right at him. 

They lit up, like having Papyrus’s renewed focus had brightened their whole day. Unclasping their hands, they lifted one in a silent but overly-friendly little wave. 

Papyrus didn’t know them. He had never met them before, never seen someone who looked like them, he’d never even met another skeleton monster in person outside himself and his brother. But that meant little in the face of such sincere happiness. The joy was contagious and tickled Papyrus straight to his core. He didn’t know this monster, but he was _always_ ready to make a new friend. 

“HELLO!” he exclaimed, slapping on his biggest smile and waving back with as much additional gusto as he could muster. 

The other looked like Papyrus had giftwrapped and presented them with a star. Their hands returned to their chest, sockets scrunched like they might cry, expression still proud, gentle with hope, and full of love. 

It made Papyrus feel all warm and special on the inside. 

The moment was interrupted by a series of scratchy chimes over the overhead speaker. Papyrus glanced up—catching a few words announcing a half-priced sale on all legumes—before turning back to find the stranger had vanished!

His head snapped to the side, scanning the veggie section with no success. Not a single skull or lab coat in sight. He’d only looked away for a moment, how could they have possibly wandered away so fast!? 

Clutching his basket, Papyrus hurried back over to the aisles, expecting to find them meandering about the bread section. It was the closest, so it seemed only logical, but it was also empty. The next aisle—additional rice and grains—was also vacant, as was soups and other canned goods. In no time he’d searched the entire store without finding the strange monster anywhere. He even asked the employees, each of them quite adamant that they hadn’t seen anyone matching his description in the store at all. 

Baffled, and rather disappointed, Papyrus eventually returned to his shopping. He found just the right fruit to make his sauce, and after a few days the odd interaction faded to the back of his mind, only to be remembered on occasion as the strange beginning of his wonderful new life.

────✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦────

Gaster fell back into his sturdy office chair, exhausted, and relieved to be safely nestled in the comforting presence of his cluster all around him. Terminology aside, he really hadn’t expected the “birthing” process to be as intensive as going through actual labor, and he was hopeful that meant there would be similar hormonal release that would result in the whole ordeal becoming a fond, hazy memory. The proceedings had been far more intense than he’d anticipated.

Still, he had seen them. Each of them. 

His eight beautiful children. 

One of them was a dancer; so graceful, pushing himself to and beyond his limits, always pushing. One was a baker; shy, hiding himself away behind a crooked smile. One of them took after him, he thought with a laugh; a scientist. Such an overthinker. And lonely... 

So very, very lonely… 

He could barely remember how that felt now...

Most of them were lost. Missing so many pieces in their lives and not knowing why. Some of them were in danger. The lives they'd chosen or been born into putting them at risk. All of them were hurting. In one way or another, pretending they weren’t as they went about their days, unaware of what they were waiting for. 

There was a part of him that wanted so desperately to reach back out to them. To take each of them by the hand and explain how everything was going to be better. Tell them about how joyous their lives were about to become. 

It would be easy. Many parents did. His “mother” believed that the bond was stronger when a cluster was able to discover itself. Or so she had explained to them years after, when she finally reached out to them. He had no basis of comparison, but he remembered how confusing and terrifying those first few weeks had been… and how _thrilling_ it had been. To uncover the truth, to explore the unbelievable, to meet… _them._

[ _”Can you project that nostalgia a little louder? I can barely feel it all the way here in Beijing.”_ ] 

Gaster chuckled, his soul warming. “Shut up. I just gave birth, I’m entitled to a little nostalgia.” 

Love and laughter echoed back to him, and he settled further into the chair, letting himself relax. His children would be fine without him. They had each other, and that was all that they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been working on this idea for well over a year. Welcome to my entirely self-endugent papcest fuck-fest! _(Or at least, the build up to one in the future~)_
> 
> This is an Undertale AU/Sense 8 crossover. If you have not seen Sense 8, this might be harder to follow, but I will try to be clear about what is going on, and there will be a run down on how the powers work in the last chapter. (And hey, if you’re here for those “soulmate,” “hive mind,” “body sharing,” and “Orgys” tags, then you’ll probably like Sense 8. It’s very gay, and has lots of good representation.)
> 
> Hopefully, you like it. Next chapter should already be up~


	2. Meetings

It had all started rather gradually…

Some time after that unusual encounter at the supermarket, Papyrus had begun noticing other such odd occurrences. Little things he initially brushed off as his overactive imagination. Like the time he’d heard it raining outside, and grabbed an umbrella, only to step out into a perfectly clear day, without a single cloud in the sky. Or that time he’d burst into his brother's room shouting at him to turn down the volume, only to find that Sans wasn’t even home, much less blaring club music. 

Sometimes, he would be doing something boring and mundane—like walking down the driveway to the mailbox—only to be bowled over by a mad rush of adrenaline; the inescapable certainty that his very life was on the line. Sometimes, he would be looking in the mirror… and catch a glimpse of a face that wasn’t his—disappearing almost before he had the chance to realize it was there at all… 

Papyrus decided it was better not to tell Sans about any of this. 

After all, it really was—probably—just his imagination! Certainly nothing worth worrying him over. Sans did worry so, even about the smallest of things and the last thing Papyrus wanted to do was add to his plate. He was only hearing things a _little_ , and barely seeing things at all! 

...and...feeling...strange… _powerful_ burst of emotions he knew didn’t belong to him…

If those self-help sites from google were to be believed: that could all be chalked up to Stress! 

Papyrus nodded a little to himself as he continued to chop the carrots for dinner. Beside him, the pot on the stove boiled over, but that was all according to plan. (He was trying another recipe by his favorite youtube channel, CookingWithAKillerFish, who said cooking required dedication and passion. Papyrus had both of those in spades!)

So it wasn’t a big deal. A little bit of perfectly normal stress. Probably from work. There was no need to worry Sans at all. The websites had even supplied a very helpful list of solutions: a couple days off, indulge in some down time, maybe take a nap and a bubble bath! 

All perfectly doable activities, even if they made Papyrus roll his eyes to think about. He wasn’t partial to the idea of taking time off, and he hardly considered his work at the daycare to be the least bit taxing. Even if he did spend more afternoons being a monster-jungle-gym than not. Sure, the little ones were rambunctious, but he’d be hard pressed to call ‘playing with children all day’ particularly ‘stressful.’

Although, thinking about it, his co-workers did often remark about ‘needing a vacation,’ and ‘where did he get all that boundless energy’ and ‘the children are mutinying; find cover!’ and such… Perhaps… he had simply been having too much fun to notice how much it was wearing on him? 

Was that how stress worked? It hardly sounded right, but what did he know about those sorts of things? Being stressed out and tired was Sans’s thing, and Papyrus prefered to remain energized and optimistic—thank you very much. It would be nice if he could just ask Sans about it, but that brought him right back to making him worry, and the whole point was not to-!

The timer went off interrupting his thoughts (the carrots were more a purée by now), and his hand shot out to silence the sound before it could reach peak-shrill. His elbow smacked into the salt, knocking the glass container off the counter. 

Papyrus winced, barely having time to realize it was going to shatter on the floor—

—when a hand shot out to catch it. 

It wasn’t his, although the long white boney phalanges were similar in a way. Sans wasn't expected home for another hour, and even if he’d come in early, Papyrus would have heard him walk in. Except for himself, the house should have been completely empty.

But it wasn’t. Standing right in the middle of Papyrus's kitchen was another skeleton, looking just as confused as he was, slowly straightening back up from his catch. The other’s sockets were wide as he gazed around the cozy and colorful kitchen, the salt shaker in his hand now a white, ceramic mug that just said “Up and Atom” on it.

The stranger was wearing a lab coat, although this wasn’t at all the stranger he’d met in the store—no. This one looked to be about Papyrus’s age, the lab coat flung over a bright orange hoodie and wrinkled cargo shorts, something Papyrus inexplicably knew he’d already been scolded for today. He was always failing to meet the dress code, Papyrus was certain, explaining that there was hardly a need for him to be uncomfortable as long as he used all the correct safety equipment, right? 

There was no reason for Papyrus to think any of that was true. No reason for Papyrus to be suddenly overwhelmingly certain that this stranger had already taken three coffee breaks and had just started his fourth. No reason to think he’d knocked over his favorite mug at the same time Papyrus did the salt, barely managing to catch it before it too could shatter on the floor. 

There was no reason for Papyrus to think any of that. He didn’t even know where this other monster had come from, much less what his workplace habits were like. Yet he was sure that those things were completely and utterly true. It was absurd. He’d never met this monster before in his life! 

And yet…

There was just something achingly familiar about him. Like he was a childhood friend that Papyrus had missed for many years, a little jarring in how much they had changed, but still that precious person that he remembered. Someone he cared for. Someone he _cherished_. 

Papyrus had never forgotten a _friend_ ever, and certainly not one who was so extra important to him. He had never known this monster standing before him. 

Still, the sensation lingered, niggling at his mind like a word on the tip of his tongue. None of his odd little episodes had lasted quite this long before, and he couldn’t help an uncertain little “HELLO…?” 

“holy-!” The other whipped around, lab coat snapping, the orange light in his sockets flickering out as he clutched the mug to his chest. “-shit!” 

Then he was gone. 

In a blink, except that Papyrus hadn’t blinked. The other had vanished, right before his eyes in such a natural way, that it felt like he’d simply chosen to walk out the door. ~~Papyrus was alone again.~~ Papyrus had been alone the entire time. The container of salt secure in his right hand, ~~as though he had been the one to catch it,~~ because he had been the one to catch it, hadn’t he? It had been his own reflexes, his own hand… 

Papyrus placed the container back on the counter and silently turned off the stove. 

Maybe he did need a couple of days off. 

Work was getting to him much harder than he’d realized. He’d give Sans a call and ask if he could pick up some take out for dinner, then Papyrus would head upstairs and take a long nap, or maybe a bath. 

...right after he made a drink. He suddenly had a strong craving for a nice hot cup of coffee… with a generous helping of honey. 

One thing was certain: he was not going to tell Sans about _any_ of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it! Next chapter will be up tomorrow~


	3. Theory

Stretch had a theory. 

Shoving an old chair out of the way with his foot and nearly tripping over a scooter, he stumbled back down the attic steps, leaving the door wide open behind him as he raced to his room with his prize: A heavy box of his old college junk. 

Papers scattered across the floor as he tore into it, carelessly flinging away anything that wasn’t what he needed. _‘You should really throw some of this stuff out, Papy,’_ Blue had always said, but he’d always thought he might have a use for it one day and low and behold: that day was today. 

Besides, he was way too lazy to sort through it all.

He had a theory. About all the strange things that had been happening. The headaches. The people he’d been seeing, in a crowd, or across the room. The ones that stood out to him like they had a spotlight on them but disappeared the second he tried to make his way over. That time in the lab when he’d gone to change sample slides, only to suddenly be in some dark, back alleyway with some absolutely terrifying fish-woman screaming at him about following protocol. She hadn’t responded well to the way he’d freaked out, didn’t even seem to realize he didn’t know who she was. 

The weirdest thing was she had been speaking Cantonese. _He_ had been speaking Cantonese. 

He didn’t KNOW Cantonese. 

The textbook and binder he’d been looking for were thick, and packed with sticky notes and markups. They hadn’t spent a lot of time on the subject in class, the whole thing had been a pretty short subsection. They hadn’t even had a test on it, if he remembered right, but the topic had caught his attention. He’d done a paper on it, (Useless. Written at 2AM the morning it was due, it was little more than rambles. Not that he hadn’t gotten an A on it, still…) but more importantly, he had all the research materials he’d printed out for it. Scooping up all the relevant documents, he carried them over to a less-messy spot on the floor and settled in for the long haul. 

_Sensorium._

Specifically a homo-sensorium. More commonly referred to as a ‘sensate’ by the total of three experts that even considered the topic worth discussing, was a presumably an evolved variant of homo-sapiens. A brand new species, that was, _theoretically_ , characterized by a small genetic mutation, resulting in something called a ‘Psycellium’; a eco-biological synaptic network capable of connecting and enabling the transmission of mental and emotional information between multiple living organisms. 

Or, a small group of individuals who shared an advanced telepathic connection because genes always wanted to be _special_. 

Or… complete science fiction. 

Stretch chewed on the end of a highlighter, rereading the pages. Criticism of the idea was vast, down right rude at times, but for understandable reasons. There was very little evidence to support it, even theoretically, and what evidence did exist was subjective at best. It wasn’t like a sensorium had ever been observed in actuality, much less studied to any degree.

And even the theoretical considerations were only as a subspecies of Homo-sapiens, with no record whatsoever of a history among monsterkind.

Maybe this had been a dumb idea… The whole thing seemed pretty far fetched, even for him, and if anyone else had told him they were going through the things he’d been going through lately, he’d have told them it was definitely hallucinations. Or drugs. Not that he was taking any drugs. 

At least, not any that were supposed to cause hallucinations… 

Damn it... was he really going to have to tell his doctor about this? 

He turned another page, not paying much attention to the dry rasp of paper sliding against each other until, a moment later, the sound echoed just a little bit to his left. 

Stretch stiffened. He was alone. This time for sure. No one else lived with him, not since Blue moved out some years ago, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone over. No, there shouldn’t be anything or any _one_ else in his room to be making noise. 

Careful not to move too suddenly or even breathe too loud, he slowly turned his head to the side. 

Beside him, sitting not three feet away, was another skeleton. 

He’d seen this one before, he realized, in one of his other episodes. While Stretch had been trying to actually fold his laundry for once, he’d seen this one in some large industrial kitchen humming a tune while he knead bread dough. But this time he was in Stretch’s room. Right there, sitting on the floor with him, leaning back against Stretch’s bed with a small paperback novel open in his lap. 

Stretch exhaled as inaudibly as he was physically able. He didn’t move, afraid to disrupt whatever had happened to make this possible. He couldn’t replicate the results when he didn’t know what had triggered them in the first place. 

This one was thin. _Upsettingly_ thin, even for a skelet; his bones delicate and brittle as he turned another page. Malnourished—Stretch would bet—with shrunken sockets and crooked, misaligned teeth. He was tall enough, meaning none of the soft, pastel clothing he was wearing fit right—too short in some places, swimming in others, careful but noticeable modifications visible to keep them from falling off. But he bore it all with a soft energy and a warm smile below wide-rimmed, pink glasses. 

Then, something in the book made him laugh, and Stretch knew the sound would sell out in minutes if he could find a way to bottle it. 

The moment dragged on, with Stretch remaining perfectly still, letting the others presence fill his senses, committing every detail to memory. He had so many questions. So many tests that he wanted to run. 

But he couldn’t bear to move even an inch. 

It was a reminder on his phone that broke the moment—them both jumping at the comical sound he’d set for the alarm. The smaller skeleton looked at him, startling horribly as his sockets locked with Stretch’s. Crooked teeth opened in a gasp before he’d vanished from sight. 

“wait!” Stretch blurted, too late. Not that it would have done anything anyways… 

Stretch stared at the empty space, knowing it had been empty all along. But it had felt so real. As real as Stretch was, breathing the same air—like Stretch could have reached out to him, touched him, felt the warmth in those fragile bones. 

But he was gone now. Nothing more than a memory in the moment. 

[ _Stretch wanted him to come back._ ]

Steeling himself, Stretch slammed the textbook closed and grabbed his laptop. There was cleaning to do, work in the morning, and he hadn’t had anything to eat all day, but none of that even crossed his mind. Something much more important had come up and he had a lot of research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to update in the mornings instead. Sorry these chapters are a little on the short side. That's just kind of the way I wrote it, and why I wanted to have them all ready to post in a row. But I'd love to hear what you guys think so far! Next chapter up tomorrow.


	4. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warnings for sexual assault and transphobia against a gender non-conforming character.)

All his life, Sugar had been teased. 

He was used to it. 

He was far too tall, and entirely too awkward when he moved or talked. He stumbled over his words, bumping into things or tripping over himself like he’d only just discovered his own long limbs. His vision was horrible, and his teeth were a mess, and trying to cover it all up with pretty ribbons or cute skirts only made his flaws stick out even more. Cute clothes looked good on cute monsters. On him, they just confused humans who would end up taunting him even more. 

He did his best not to let it bother him. He knew the only thing that mattered was that he _felt_ cute, but it always managed to weedled its way into his soul. He wasn’t cute. He was weird, and awkward, and tried too hard—but he was used to that. He could handle that. 

He could handle a little teasing. 

This however—

[ _This he couldn’t handle!_ ]

“Please Give Those Back!” he begged, trying desperately to get around the monster that blocked his way. “P-Please! I-I Can’t…I Can’t See!” 

Everything was blurry without his glasses. The light that filtered into the dark alley did little to help him distinguish a trash can from an open stairwell, but he could just barely make out the movement of his tormentors as they laughed at him. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” one said, making a broad gesture. Sugar had only caught a glimpse of them before they’d taken his glasses, but there were three of them: two humans and a sizable wolf-monster blocking his way. “I’m just looking at them… Wow. You really are blind, aren’t ya?” 

Sugar whined. 

Oh! He was going to _break_ them! 

They had been so expensive. A special purchase to celebrate finally being a little financially stable. That they finally had a roof, and jobs, and even a little put away to afford something nice for once. Sugar had refused them, thinking they were too much, but Blood had insisted, ignoring any arguments after seeing the way Sugar had reacted to them. 

This was exactly the sort of thing Sugar had been worried about! 

Well... not this exact thing. Avoiding situations like this was the main reason Blood had wanted them to hop the border and start their new life in Canada in the first place. It was supposed to be better here. _Safer_ here. A place where he didn't have to worry about people trying to follow him home from work. Where he didn’t have to be afraid of being cornered in a dark alley by a couple of bullies! 

“Yeah, I’ll bet he’s wearing panties,” the second human mocked from behind him, and Sugar gasped as his skirt was yanked up. He spun around to smack the offending hand, hoping that would put him off, but the other just laughed maliciously. Sugar quickly smoothed the fabric down, embarrassed tears burning at his sockets. “Yup. Fucking trannys. You sure it’s a dude?” 

Sugar flinched backwards, and again when he bumped into the other monster, who laughed. They all sounded American. He only ever had this sort of trouble with tourists. Was it because he didn’t have an accent? Why couldn’t they just leave him alone!?

“Pretty sure,” the wolf said with a shrug. “But who knows. Maybe not.” 

“He’s got tits!” the other argued. 

Sugar brought his arms up, covering his chest as he hugged himself. “P-Please Just Give Me Back My G-Glasses-!” Sugar begged, “I-I Want To Go Home…” 

They ignored him. 

“I know,” the first one declared. Something glinted in the sunlight and Sugar winced, pretty sure it was his glasses being carelessly twirled around. “Why don’t we check?” 

Sugar flinched. 

The wolf scoffed. “That won't help. Skeletons are all magic. They can pick whatever.” 

“ _Pick?_ ” the second one said. “Ooooh, that’s so gross!” Another mocking laugh. “Kinda wanna see that...” 

In retrospect—Sugar realized—Blood would scold him for risking his safety over a pair of glasses, no matter how expensive they had been. The alleyway was barely more than blurs of color, but he knew the general direction home. As long as he didn’t trip over anything, or try to run into the street, he’d be fine. 

Clutching his fists, he turned to race for the other end of the alley. 

A hand seized his wrist, wrenching him back. Pain shot through his shoulder and he yelped.

“Hey now. What’s the rush?” The second human laughed, pulling harder. He was shorter than Sugar, but that didn’t stop him from being much stronger, easily yanking him around and slamming him against one of the brick walls. His skull collided with a crack and an explosion of pain. “We just want to get to know you a little better.”

“L-Let Go!” Sugar shouted, struggling to get free, his head ringing so loud he almost couldn’t hear them. “I-I Don’t- P-Please, I-!” 

“Jesus-” The human complained. “Quit being such a dramatic bitch. We’re all friends here, we just wanna have a look.”

“No!” Hands were tugging on his skirt again, and Sugar hit at him, trying to push him off. “Stop!” 

“Knock it off,” the human snapped. Sugar refused, struggling harder. “You’re really starting to piss me off!” A shadow flashed up; an arm to strike him. Sugar cried out—

—and caught it with ease. 

The wrist caught in his steel-grip jerked once, it’s owner letting out a dull sound of confusion. Sugar would have done the same, but instead his mouth pulled into a snarl and his hand twisted around until his attacker let out a sharp wail. 

“he said: **_let go_** _._ ” 

Sugar released his grip, smashing his fist into the human’s face. Something gave, warmth spreading across his knuckles, and there was a blur of red as the human stumbled backwards, biting out a violent string of curses.

Sugar was bewildered. His own body was reacting without him. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it had always been a sudden thing. A momentary, involuntary reaction. Nothing that lasted, nothing this intense. He wasn’t in control of anything—then, he wasn’t even in the fight any longer. 

Instead, he was on the sidelines, watching as someone who was not-Sugar took his place. Everything was still blurry, but Sugar could follow the action with a strange clarity, feeling it more than seeing it as the stranger smirked. 

~~Sugar~~ dodged to the side as the wolf rushed him, quick to move to a better position. Backed against a brick wall wasn’t a great place to be. Something caught on his heel and he stumbled, barely catching himself before he landed in a pile of trash bags. 

“fuck. _really_ can’t see,” he muttered, but it didn’t matter. Even half-blinded, he could make out the wild haymaker that came for him next. 

Sugar covered his eyes with a gasp, not wanting to see the blow. But ~~Sugar~~ slipped beneath it, smooth and confident. His attacker teetered, his footing shit, and ~~Sugar~~ took advantage of that momentum, slamming into his side to bring down the much larger opponent. 

The wolf’s head collided with—given the metallic clang it made—some sort of railing, and collapsed. 

“What the fuck!” The first human snapped, dropping something that glinted in the light. 

Sugar didn’t even have the chance to remember it was his glasses before his body had lunged forward, sliding on the ground but managing to catch them in time. ~~Sugar~~ pulled them to his chest protectively, spinning and bracing himself against the ground to give a well-placed kick to the figure above him, knocking the human back. 

~~Sugar~~ rolled, springing to his feet, but the human was already scrambling to get away, screaming obscenities as he fled the alleyway. ~~Sugar~~ turned around, prepared for another attack, but there was no movement. Fumbling unfamiliarly with the glasses arms, he managed to get them shoved into place, to see the second human must have already escaped during the commotion. The wolf monster appeared to be completely unconscious. 

Sugar took a stuttered breath, finding himself back in his own body as the strength that had kept him on his feet vanished. His knees wobbled and he slid back to the ground, bones trembling with loud clacks and clatters. Another broken breath, and he was pretty sure he was going to cry.

A hand reached down into his view-point, long, skeletal fingers opening in offer. “you alright?”

Sugar looked up, almost yet not at all surprised by the roguish-looking skeleton standing over him, with well-concealed concern. Sugar stared, his mouth working open, but nothing came out. He closed it, swallowing with some difficulty before trying again. 

“W… Was That… Was That You?” 

[ _ ~~Slim~~_ ] nodded and Sugar flushed. Of course it was-what a stupid question! Why else would he be there now, looking him over, waiting for-

Sugar startled, realizing he was just making [ _ ~~Slim~~_ ] stand there. “Oh! Yes! No—I’m Fine! More Than! Goodness—Thank You! I Couldn’t-I Wouldn’t-” 

He reached up to take the strangers hand, flinching away at the last moment. He couldn’t… touch these apparitions, could he? 

But they weren’t apparitions, were they? These strangers that kept popping into his head. They were real people, somewhere, _somehow_. Certainly Sugar didn’t have that means of defending himself, no matter how deep he dug or how high his adrenaline. That had come from someone else—had _been_ someone else. But that didn’t mean the other was actually there either. That didn’t mean they could _touch_. 

Their fingertips brushed and Sugar gasped slightly. The other looked unphased, but somehow Sugar was sure that he was. 

He hadn’t known it would work either. 

Hesitant, slowly, Sugar allowed his hand to slide into the strangers, feeling the warmth of rough bone against his. Strong fingers tightened around his and it was no strength of his own that pulled him to his feet, easily—like he weighed nothing at all. No strength of his own that steadied him when he wobbled, [ _but it must have been. His own legs that pushed him off the ground. His own balance that caught him_ ], the firm body that supported him before he jumped away, embarrassed.

“Oh! I’m So Sorry! I Didn’t-!” 

[ _ ~~Slim~~_ ] didn’t let him go, carefully keeping hold of his hand. He turned it over, inspecting it carefully. 

“...i hurt you…” he muttered. 

“What?” Sugar asked, before his palms started to sting in response. They were all scraped up from the fall, and Sugar panicked. “No! This Is Nothing! You _Saved_ Me!” He touched the back of his skull, the bone already very tender. “They Would Have Hurt Me Much Worse. These Are Hardly Anything At All.” 

The stranger looked unconvinced—how could he not be convinced?! He nudged Sugar’s sleeve up, thumb running over the frail bones of his wrist. Sugar’s soul was pounding. Could he hear it? It was pulsing so loudly in Sugar’s skull.

“...shoulda been more careful…” he muttered, glancing over Sugar’s soiled clothing, now heavily matted with dirt and speckled with blood.

“Please… Please Don’t Worry About That.” 

[ _ ~~Slim’s~~_ ] eye lights were a deep, intense amber and Sugar squeaked when they met his, his whole skull flushing neon-bright.

God, was he capable of doing anything other than embarrassing himself?

But the stranger gave him a little half-grin, letting go cautiously, like he was still ready to catch him if Sugar fell. The urge to do just that, let himself just swoon back into the strangers arms hit hard, and Sugar was doubly embarrassed by the temptation. 

“I’m Sugar!” he blurted, a better course of action—although only slightly less embarrassing. “You— I-I’ve Seen You Before.” What a creepy way to say that. Was it too much to ask to be even a little smooth? “I-I Mean—Not That I’ve Been Trying Or- Because- You Know! I’ve Seen You. Around. Like The Others, But Always… um...” 

Distant. 

Sugar winced at the thought. The other always felt distant, like he was avoiding them. Maybe he was. Maybe he didn’t like them, and Sugar was just annoying him. 

But [ _ ~~Slim~~_ ] didn’t seem annoyed. Instead he let out a velvety chuckle and Sugar revisited the swooning option. 

“sugar…” he muttered. “course… ‘sugs’ is short for sugar.” Sugar blushed, wondering when the other had overheard that nickname. Only Blood called him that, so he desperately hoped it hadn’t been during any embarrassing brotherly-coddling. “slim.” 

“Oh!” But he’d known that, hadn’t he? He’d known that name all along, locked away deep in his memories. “Slim…” How wonderful to know for sure. “I Don’t Know How To Thank You For-” 

“don’t worry about it,” Slim interrupted quickly. His accent was rough and heady, so thick Sugar was shocked that he could understand it at all, except- “it’s nothing.” -it wasn’t just an accent at all! 

“You’re Speaking Russian!” Sugar gasped. 

Slim’s mouth quirked into a smile. “ _you’re_ speaking russian.” 

“I Don’t Know Russian!” Sugar argued, but Slim was right—the words coming to his tongue naturally, like he’d been speaking it his whole life. So easily, he hadn’t even noticed the change. “But I Don’t...” 

There was a loud sound—a car horn—from the other side of the connection. Slim’s attention snapped away and he was gone, the connection broken. Sugar was alone again, and he knew it wouldn’t come back no matter how much he pushed. 

[ _Disappointment. A bottomless river of disappointment._ ] 

Sugar felt short-changed, bitter at whoever had caused the interruption. He had so many questions. So many things he wanted to know about these strangers.

There was a strangled sound from the wolf monster on the ground and Sugar jumped, deciding it was best to skedaddle. He was going to give Blood a soul-attack when he walked in, but he could deal with that when he got there. 

For now, Sugar just hurried home, thinking about his savoir, his soul fluttering like a hummingbird the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter~! Hope you all like it as much as I do!
> 
> Next chapter tomorrow.


	5. Trouble

Far below him, the city lights stretched along busy streets as Slim took another drag from his cigarette. He was sitting on the ledge of some apartment building, one leg up so he could lean against it, the other dangling over the edge, it’s owner not caring about the height as it swung absentmindedly. He blew smoke out into the night air. It tasted less like tobacco and more like dust, but that was only because his hands were covered in it. 

In the distance, a horn blared, the familiar sounds of the city creating a soothing backdrop to ignore his chaotic thoughts too. Or at least, it usually did. Tonight, it didn’t seem to be working at all. He’d need to leave to find something more distracting pretty soon...

[ _Or not._ ]

“come here often?” purred a soft voice, as someone joined him. 

Normally, it would have put him on the defensive—that someone had managed to sneak up on him. It meant they were good, that they knew what they were doing. Besides, he was still covered in dust from his last kill. 

It was better not to leave witnesses. 

Instead, he just took another drag, unsurprised by the company. The others' appearance felt as natural and expected as the cool night air. Despite his best efforts to keep them away, he was starting to get used to these little ‘visits.’ 

“not one of my usual haunts,” he admitted, tossing a glance. The other leaned over the ledge in a way that made Slim’s soul try to leap from his body. 

There was no one there, he told himself, taking a deep drag to keep himself from reaching out to stop him. There was no one there, no actual danger, but that didn’t stop his nerves from fraying as the other pushed on his toes to see farther down to the street. 

“wow,” he breathed. “what a view. nothin’ like this where i’m from.” 

“...yeah?” Slim said, although the only light he was watching was the glowing purple one—growing brighter with excitement. “s’alright, i guess… can’t see the stars though.” 

He didn’t need to look up to see the sheet of black hanging overhead. The lights in the city were too bright for any stars to come through. He’d always meant to get out of town at some point, get somewhere a little quieter, but that had never happened. Better work in the city, anyways. 

He took another puff of smoke, watching his new companion. “...it’s cash, right?” 

“and yer slim.” Cash smirked at him, lounging on the ledge with his arms folded up under his head. He was a pretty thing, all bedroom eyes— _[even with the one patched up. An old injury. Don’t ask. He didn’t want to think about. Didn’t want to remember._ ]—and tempting bones; hidden beneath bulky second-hand clothes and hiding a steel core that refused to take shit from anyone. _Even more tempting…_ “yer the one who helped me out the other day.” 

Slim shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d planned on sticking his non-existent nose where it didn’t belong. He’d just been grabbing a bite to eat when he’d been bombarded with waves of fear and distress. It had felt like someone was calling him, and he’d responded. Going in, all he’d known was it was a business deal gone wrong. A customer who’d decided violence sounded like a cheaper option. 

And that Cash couldn’t get out of it alone. 

“don’t worry about it,” he muttered. He’d only reacted. Done what anyone would do when they suddenly found themself in a fight. Helped out a stranger because it was convenient, nothing more. 

His disinterest didn’t stop the look Cash was giving him. Instead he pushed off the ledge, making his way over. “ya sure?” he asked, slowly letting his fingertips run up Slim’s leg. Slim could feel it, real as anything, the phalanges even catching on a fold of fabric before continuing up to his knee. “kinda... feel like i owe ya. don’t wanna seem ungrateful or nothin’.”

His tone was flirtatious. He was teasing. Cash liked to tease. He knew exactly what to do to get someone's attention, and exactly how to keep it where he wanted it. Cash was just trying to bait him, but… 

It wasn’t strange, somehow. Knowing things Slim had never learned, remembering events he’d never experienced, feeling emotions that weren’t his own. It wasn’t controllable, just a random assortment of information, as likely to be irrelevant as it was anything useful.

Cash was teasing...

[ _...unless Slim wanted to take him up on it._ ]

Slim took another inhale of the cigarette and blew it out right in the other’s face. 

Cash laughed, jerking back to bat away the smoke. “i can feel that, ya’know.” 

“how’s that work?” Slim grumbled, annoyed by the inconsistency. He wasn’t actually there. 

“how does any of this work?” Cash nodded towards the lights. “m’nowhere near a city right now, yet…” He could taste the smoke, feel the cold, hear the chaos of people going about their lives. “the other one—stretch, ya know—‘s been lookin’ into it, doin’ research, running’ tests and shit…” He shrugged. “and as far as i’m aware, he still ain’t got a clue how any of this works.” 

Slim looked away. At least he didn’t think it was a bad trip anymore. The first few times he was sure it was the drugs, hardly the first time he’d gotten too fucked up. But they were too collected to be hallucinations, too consistent, or at least, that’s what he told himself. They were there now, whether it suited him or not—in the back of his head, poking in occasionally like they had a reason to be in his life. 

When he was meant to be alone. 

He raised the cigarette to his mouth, only to be stopped by a hand on his wrist. Cash smirked at him, tugging his arm closer, seemingly unbothered by the dust covering his hand and sleeve. “maybe we should run a little rest of our own?” 

Slim watched, transfixed, as Cash leaned forward, pressing his teeth against Slim’s long fingers to steal a long drag for himself. 

He stared as Cash pulled away, holding the smoke behind his teeth for a while, before letting it out in a slow stream. 

“howzit?” he asked, breathless. 

Cash took his time to answer, giving him a sidelong look. “...ya smoke a shit brand.” 

“fuck off.” Slim shoved him away. A laugh nearly found its way into his words, something light and bubbly, that he shoved the lid onto before it did something stupid. “so i’m cheap, sue me.” 

Cash chuckled. “yeah… me too.” He reached into the pocket of his heavy purple jacket, pulling out a pack. A little black and white box. The writing across it was in a different language, but Slim knew what it said—knew the logo. “smoke the same one,” Cash rattled it back and forth. “stretch too.” 

There was… something about that. Something that felt… right. And obvious. And _special._

Slim looked away quickly, not wanting to know what that feeling was. “...how was it actually?” 

“can taste it. feel it.” Cash touched his mouth, running his fingers along the seam of his teeth. “but it feels a little distant. not as strong as when i’m… being you? ya’know?” Which was odd, because there was a distant part of Slim that knew he’d inhaled the smoke himself, held onto it, and let it out into the night sky. Knew Cash wasn’t there, knew Cash couldn’t interact with anything, knew that his body had to make up the difference. Yet he had watched Cash do it. Felt the hand tight around his wrist. The warmth of Cash’s mouth against his fingers. 

Those very solid fingers that touched his hand again. “...it didn’t feel half as clear as this does…” 

It felt like he was right there. As real as the wind, the lights, the city. If Cash decided too, he could shove Slim right off that roof. That should have scared him, but it wasn’t half as terrifying as the way those warm fingers closed around his. 

A strong wind picked up around them and Cash huffed, letting go to tug his jacket a little closer, shivering. “ya must be a lot further north then i am. feels like winter out here.” 

It was hardly even chilly, in Slim’s opinion. He frowned. “you’re cold?” 

Cash gave him a smirk. “naw.” 

[ _He was freezing._ ] 

Slim smothered the bud against the side of the building, flicking the remains out towards the street. “come on. let’s head in.” 

He hopped off the ledge, heading right for the door. A tug on his jacket stopped him. 

“i got a better idea of how we can warm up,” Cash cooed, circling around to press up against him flirtatiously. Then he grinned again, nodding upward. “look.” 

Slim obeyed without thinking. Following orders was still the only thing he was good for, but at least this time, it was someone he wanted to listen too. He expected some kind of prank or another tease—

What he found was a sky full of stars, spilling across every inch of the night. 

Slim froze, gasping in a mouthful of warm, humid air, sweet and clear of the city’s pollution. Suddenly they were standing in a wide field, a line of trees off in the distance, no light visible anywhere except for the ones overhead. Behind him, in the distance he knew he would just be able to make out Cash’s car parked on the road, if he could somehow manage to tear his eyes away from the scene above him. 

“hey now,” Cash whispered. “that’s a much better expression on ya…”

Slim continued to stare, choked by the sight. 

Cash’s weight pressed against him, words dipping even softer, mumbled like a secret. “...thanks again for helpin’ me…” Slim shivered. He was supposed to be pushing them away. He wasn’t supposed to let them in. He was supposed to be _alone._ “...for helpin’... us.” 

[ _He was in trouble._ ]

Above them, the stars sparkled like diamonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	6. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warnings for prostitution (within the chapter with some unnamed OC), dubious consent, and some additional sexy times.)

It wasn’t that Cash disliked his job. 

He was good at it, and it was a quick and easy way to earn a hearty chunk of change in his freetime. Not to mention there were plenty of perks to go with it. He wasn’t exactly cheap (unless he chose to be) so he usually catered to a higher bar of clientele. Which meant fancy hotels, food, drink, and certain repeat customers who liked to give him expansive little gifts that he usually pawned. Sometimes it was even gratifying. A charming enough client, with some good enough game was a great way to blow some stress and get his rocks off. 

But most of the time, it was just a job. Just some dick to suck, or a cunt to stuff, playing at Whoever being the best lover he’d ever had, hoping to earn a tip, and doing his best to somehow get off himself. It was work and he needed the money, so it was fine. 

At least, that was what it used to be… 

Nowadays, time spent with a customer was time not spent with his… Stretch said they were called a ‘cluster’. The eight of them, connected to each other, born on the same day, having taken the same first breath together… 

Papyrus called them soulmates. 

[ _Cash liked that better._ ] 

The hotel lights were dimmed atmospherically, the wide room pristine and void of anything unusual or out of place except for the dresser pounding against the wall as Cash was rocked back against it. 

It wasn’t going too bad. It was a new customer, an aquatic-type monster, handsomer than usual, and certainly passionate. He hadn’t even tried to get either of their clothes off, just hoisted Cash up on the nearest piece of furniture and began rutting desperately against him. Normally, Cash would be having a pretty good evening. 

Instead, he was running on autopilot, letting the right words fall out while he secretly sulked. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be with one of them—testing the limits of their new abilities with Stretch, listening to Papyrus’s excited rambling… 

Initially he’d been bothered by it. These strangers that kept popping up unannounced, when he was just trying to go about his life. He already had enough people bothering him and enough reason to wonder if he was still alright in the head. 

But they were insistent. Springing up with their warm smiles, poking in to share a joke or a smoke, catching him when his shitty life decided to knock him a good one, and now… 

His thoughts were interrupted by hands grabbing his legs, lifting him up and maneuvering them back to the bed. Cash didn’t sigh—although he wanted too—going through the motions as the customer dropped them both on the bed with Cash on his lap. Clumsy hands wrestled him out of his dress, and Cash threw out something slutty about ‘wanting but so bad’ and ‘can’t take it’ and ‘yatta-yatta’ while he hurried about unbuttoning the customer’s pants. 

He should be paying attention, but honestly, he just wanted to mope. It felt good enough as he sank down, the strangers cock plenty big enough to get him off on a normal day—but it wasn’t like he couldn’t get laid any time he wanted. The chances he had to spend with his cluster were limited. He was starting to get the hang of when they were going to happen, but he couldn't _make_ them happen. 

“Oh god, so good,” the customer groaned as Cash began to move, bouncing himself up and down, trying to focus, but unable to. 

The ‘visits’ were… they weren’t random, exactly. There was definitely a correlation, something to do with an emotional connection, or so Stretch had rambled the first time they’d met, going on and on and on. Cash smiled at the memory. 

It wasn’t something he could make happen, more like something he had to... _let_ happen. A little bit like there was some part of him—some kind of unfamiliar muscle he wasn’t used to using—that he needed to… fully relax. A part of him he needed to open up, to let that longing for their company fill him up, to reach out for them and— 

The lights overhead were bright and harsh, as one second Cash was in a dimly lit hotel room and the next he was riding cock in the middle of a spacious modern kitchen, atop a black granite countertop. Sunlight poured in from the window, a stark contrast to his middle of the night, but his attention was on the skeleton who seemed just as surprised by his appearance as Cash was embarrassed to have accidentally called out in the middle of… well, that. 

They stared at each other for a moment. The other recovered first, amusement and resignation mixing into a handsome look as he raised his glass and drained it. Cash felt an echo of satisfaction from how refreshing ice water felt when it was just _so_ hot out. The ice clinked as the glass was set on the counter and the other leaned back against it, facing him almost like he wasn’t bothered by the interruption in the slightest. 

Cash knew this one. He knew them all by now, at least by name, although he hadn’t had the time to get to really know each of them yet. This one he’d met on the dancefloor, while he was searching for his next meal ticket, bobbing his head along to crappy techno music at some dingy little club, only for a strong hand to sweep him into a dance. His body had obeyed instinctively, not knowing a single step but following along effortlessly as he was dipped and twirled until he was breathless and alone back on the club floor, his bones buzzing and hot from adrenaline and arousal. 

Much like they were starting to feel now with Tango staring so intently. 

Cash shivered, watching those long phalanges drum contemplatively against the counter. Tango was all smooth, perfectly porcelain bones, long and sturdy. Handsome and aware of it, wearing tight black pants, and loose white shirt that didn’t even button up past his sternum, leaving a tantalizing amount of his ribcage on display. 

A display that was only enhanced as Tango reached up to tug at the front of it. “I suppose this is your fault, then?” he said, voice rough as he lightly fan himself with the fabric. There was a thrill that shot right down Cash’s spine as he realized it wasn’t the _heat_ that had him flushed and sweating, magic starting to glow. 

But Tango didn’t seem unhappy about it, so Cash couldn't help a teasing grin. “sorry~”

“No,” his customer refuted, rudely reminding him what he was actually supposed to be doing. “This is good. Did you come?” 

The hopeful tilt to his voice would have been almost endearing if Cash wasn’t struggling not to roll his eye and smother him with a pillow. He supposed he did just freeze up suddenly, and stare ahead into space like a lunatic, but _what kind of orgasm—?_

Still, it was a mistake that worked out in his favor and he nodded quickly, resuming his task at a much slower pace. He arched back as he rocked his body up and down, trailing a finger down along his ribcage. “enjoying the show?” 

Tango’s eyes flickered down, like he couldn’t help himself. 

“Oh hell yeah,” his client groaned, becoming less tolerable by the second. 

There was a way to talk to the others without having to speak out loud. If he ‘projected’ himself to Tango instead, his customer wouldn’t hear anything. Cash had done it before, just once, but it was another skill he wasn’t exactly practiced in, and wasn’t something he was going to be able to do given current circumstances. 

But that didn’t matter. Cash could work with it. The only thing that mattered was that he had all of Tango’s attention focused solely on him. 

He lifted himself slowly, making sure to keep his body presented prettily, before sinking down with a nice, loud moan. He’d always enjoyed being watched, but this was something different. Tango’s eyes on him had heat surging down to his cunt, slicking him up more than any pre-game rutting ever had. He moaned louder, rocking harder. 

There was a visible struggle as Tango ripped his eyes away, turning to walk off into a different room. 

Cash pouted, nearly calling for him to wait, only able to stop himself by remembering the customer. Fortunately that wasn’t how their bond worked and Cash found himself on a gorgeous king-sized bed, watching as Tango continued to try to ignore him, searching the closet for a clean set of clothes.

Off to take a cold shower, Cash realized with a grin. Oh, not if he had anything to say about it~

He threw back his head, putting his all into this performance, reaching down to work his fingers over his clit. He could feel the pleasure echoing between them, and when he looked over, Tango was watching him again, magic flaring hotly at his joints. 

_Shit,_ Cash thought with a shudder, his thrusts faulting as his body impulsively tried to shift to a better position. His fingers moved faster as the pressure started to build, hips slamming down, focusing on the burn of the stretch instead of how dissatisfying the angle was. Even without it, he was really starting to feel good, keeping his legs spread wide as he rubbed and bounced hard, his moans slipping to something more honest as he started to lose control, eye locked with Tango’s. 

Rough hands jerked him down, holding him firmly while his customer groaned and released inside him. The action interrupted the connection, as well as any of his own progress on the subject, his arousal diminishing quickly without the audience. 

“That was amazing…” the customer was muttering while Cash waited for him to get his shit together. He’d been planning another trip to the bar, maybe pick up another client for the night, but he wasn’t feeling up for it anymore. The hotel room was already paid for, so the sooner the other got out, the faster he could take advantage of that unlimited hot water and crawl into bed. He didn’t even feel like finishing himself off.

It’d just be disappointing anyways. 

Once they’d caught their breath, the customer was just as eager to get moving, which was good. The ones that wanted to stay a cuddle were a pain in the ass. He rambled on, asking if it was good for Cash, if he’d be around the rest of the week, etc... while he fixed his clothes. Cash cooed out all the appropriate responses. Payment was dropped on the side table, a couple bills higher than it should be, silver lining for his troubles, and a number Cash would probably set ablaze with his lighter—a small act to vent his misplaced frustration; and then he was alone again, the door catching in place with a click. 

Cash dropped back on the mattress, thoughts spinning into calculations, subtracting the cost of the taxi over and the inherent lost value of not taking more customers on a night that he already had a hotel room. But at least he’d made an interesting discovery.

And gotten to see Tango. 

And been his usual whore-self in front of Tango, he realized with a groan. Probably not his best move. Tango had seemed into it at first, but Cash had probably been projecting. Because the first thing he’d done was run away.

Cash sat up, rubbing at his sockets. He better not have just _fucked_ everything up. He barely even knew them and he was already trying to slut his way into their beds, like that didn’t run the huge risk of driving them away in the first place.

Cash shoved off the bed, thinking the shower might help shake his sudden mood, but didn’t make it very far before a hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him back. 

“I understand now why you chose to visit me,” Tango said, in a buttery Italian that dripped its way down Cash’s spine. He shivered as long phalanges curled tauntingly around his hip, creeping over the bone. "I hope all your lovers aren't so callous as to leave such a rewarding task unfinished."

"I wouldn't call any of them lovers," Cash breathed, doing his best not to whine as talented fingers worked their way closer to their prize.

"I suppose it can't be helped," Tango whispered huskily against his skull. "Leaving you in such a state would be... cruel."

The fingers finally slipped between his folds and Cash moaned as they found his clit, immediately tormenting him with wide, languid circles, a blissful and unsatisfying pace intending to draw out the pleasure long before he’d be allowed any sort of relief. His body trembled as Tango adopted just the right tempo to ride that line, fingers getting slicker with each swipe, pressing into just the right spots to make Cash gasp, expertly avoiding the ones that didn’t—and it took longer then it should have for Cash to piece together why it was so different.

Tango wasn't listening to his moans.

He was responding to Cash’s _pleasure_.

Cash bucked, voice getting louder as he thrashed, pressing back hard against the monster behind him. He could _feel_ it; they could _both feel it._ The sensations were rebounding through the connection between them, Tango could feel the way it felt when he went faster _there_ , and slower _there_. And Cash could feel the way his hips were moving against Tango’s lap, the sensation of his magic straining to form into a cock, held back by a willpower Cash had never _once_ possessed.

He began to roll back with more purpose, earning a grunt as he settled into a rhythm Tango preferred, trying not to be distracted by not just his own pleasure, but the echoes of that same pleasure as Tango felt it. That became even harder as his head fell back, leaving his neck open and vulnerable to Tango's teeth and tongue. He almost didn’t notice the hand that wrapped around his spine, jerking up and down at the perfect pace, except that it was all he could notice, and Tango was picking up speed. Cash shuddered as Tango’s cock formed, thrusting up as his fingers went faster, teeth biting harder—the sounds coming out of him were _obscene_ and Cash couldn’t care less, hoping the whole hotel could hear him, hear what Tango was doing to him, hear—

—the scream as he came, the waves of it crashing through Cash and into Tango, who locked up in response, his own pleasure cresting and rebounding back into Cash again. They shuddered, gasping and clinging to each other as it rocked between them, ebbing and surging until Cash couldn’t tell if he’d had one orgasm, two, or _five_.

When he finally crashed back on the bed, alone and utterly unmade, he was fucking bewildered. All that from a goddamn _handy!?_ Fuck!

He barely had time to come to terms with that revelation, his mouth quirking into a laugh that was immediately cut off by hands sliding back up his femurs.

Tango looked just as composed as Cash felt, still panting as he leaned over him. [ _Tango felt just as wrecked as Cash looked, shivering on the soiled sheets._ ] Their eye lights blown wide, Tango’s clothes disheveled, momentarily contented magic burning back to life with a deep-seeded aching need that brought them crashing together.

The kiss was wild and heavenly, refinement thrown out as they began to paw at each other, Cash desperate trying to remove that stupid puffy shirt, so he could leer at all those large, strong bones while Tango _destroyed_ him. The taste of his magic was heavy and savory in his mouth, wrestling his own tongue into submission with a skill Cash was certain he’d never been privy to before, but prayed he would be over and over again.

When they finally broke apart it was only for a desperate need of air. They breathed against each other for a moment, before Tango’s smile grew wicked.

Cash just continued to pant, wondering what nefarious scheme the other had dreamed up, their ever unreliable connection keeping his secret. But it didn’t take much to piece it together. Not as Tango slid off of him, onto his knees beside the bed, forcing Cash’s legs apart and—

Oh god, yes.

_Oh GOD, YES!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like!


	7. Support

Orders barked out like a general directing her soldiers—Nonna assigned each task in a flurry of Italian, knife never breaking stride as it reduced the eggplant to nearly manicured slices. Her instructions were met with mixed reactions—a mock salute, a burst of groans, a plea to trade—but no one disobeyed. Nonna's celebrations were legendary and no one was prepared to face down that dragon.

Tango didn't need directions, already finishing the last of the balloons and moving on to help with the remaining flower arrangements. There was a reason everyone joked that he was the 'favorite cousin'. He hadn't missed preparations for any celebrations—from weddings to funerals—since he moved back home. To say that birthdays had become his specialty, given the sheer size of his family, would be an understatement.

Although four cousins turning 18 this year specifically was... beginning to become a bit much.  
Especially considering he had a competition he was supposed to be preparing for, and finishing the plans for the renovations at the studio. But it didn't matter. If there was one thing he was good at: it was multitasking. No one could say he didn't utilize that boundless natural energy he'd been graced with.

Besides, he'd missed out on so much when he lived overseas, so he had a lot of responsibilities to make up for.

"How many more do we need to finish?" he asked, approaching the table, but whatever answer he got was drowned out by another, much more enticing, voice to his right.

[ _"...How about a private dance instructor?"_ ]

The familial bustle shifted to a different sort of one as Tango found himself standing in the precinct. Or, _a_ precinct at least, given the shift in continent, but the only one he had reason to be familiar with. It was the debriefing room, with most of the tables shoved up against the walls with officers sitting on top of them, since there were hardly any chairs remaining. In thanks to one officer in particular, who didn't care so much about property. Speaking of…

"Ha!" Undyne exclaimed, head snapping towards him. She was lounging, having taken a full table all to herself, knowing damn well no one would try to fight her on it. "What makes you think you could pull off being a dance instructor?"

Sitting in one of the only chairs available, Edge cast a quick look at Tango, taking him in with all that stoic seriousness he'd come to appreciate, before looking back with the same grave sincerity. "I am exceptionally proficient at it."

" _'You are'_ -" she repeated mockingly, before bursting into laughter. "-so full of shit!" Around her a few others joined in the chuckling, more because of how infectious hers was, but also because she had a fair point. “You mean to tell us you can 'bust a move' with that stick lodged oh-so-firmly up your ass?” 

Edge flipped her off, earning another round of laughter.

Tango watched the proceedings with a smile. The flowers didn't take much concentration, he'd made them so many times before that he could do it in his sleep, so he allowed his real body to continue on autopilot and turned his attention to this new development, slowly walking over to lean over the back to Edge's chair, unseen by anyone else in the office.

"This is so exciting,” he teased softly, making a point to speak a little too closely to the other skeleton's skull. "Why didn't you tell me you could dance? I can't wait to see it."

Edge shot him a glare. "A dance instructor makes sense. We know that his wife has been going through some new trends practically every other week. We already have the connections to plant the idea, it would get us into the house-"

"Drop it," The chief, a large lizard-type monster, said sharply. “Edge. I already told you, you and Undyne are not going to be on this case after what happened the last time. You’ve already got your assignment.” 

“We got the job _done_ last time,” Edge snapped. “I’ve been profiling this group for over a year, it makes the most sense to let me go in there!” 

Tango looked over at the whiteboard filled with photos and police notes. He didn’t need to read any of it to glean the general meaning, like a sifter of information pouring in from Edge until he had the gist. An extremely wealthy loan shark, known for employing particularly violent recovery methods, and one very strict undercover warrant to gather necessary evidence.

Which was why Edge had called to him.

Their connection had been getting stronger lately. Much more stable, and it was getting easier to call to each other intentionally. Easier to do everything, really. It was strange how quickly it was all becoming second nature. How normal it was becoming to take control of a body that wasn't his, or for someone else to take over his. How easy it was to adjust to being in a room full of people, knowing they couldn't see or hear him.

“Well now, hold on,” Undyne interjected before the chief dismissed him again. “If my partner says he can dance—I know damn well I’m not the only one in the room who wants to see it.” Her sharp grin was equal parts good-natured as it was condescending. “I say we give him the chance to prove it. I mean, he’s _right_ , isn't he? It _would_ be a good cover, right?”

The chief gave her a dull, unimpressed look, but it shifted back to Edge, voice clearly patronizing. "Alright, Edge. If you think you can pull this off, why don't you prove it."

Tango laughed, leaning into him. "I'm excited for this demonstration, I didn't-" 

[ _His teasing was cut off by a soft shake to his arm._

_"Are you alright, dear?" his mother asked, worry etched into her face. "You're staring off into space. Are you not feeling well?"_

_"Yes! I mean—no, I’m alright!” he said quickly, ushering her back towards the counter with a wave. "I was just lost in thought for a moment. No need to worry, I'll get back to it."_

_She didn't seem convinced and neither did Edge, his stony expression hiding the apprehension Tango could feel growing beneath the surface. She walked away, but his crossed arms tightened, claws drawing creases in his uniform as he studied the party, remembering the duties Tango had already undertaken._

_"I wasn't thinking," he said stiffly. "I shouldn't have volunteered you without-"_ ]

"Nonsense." Tango said, grabbing his hand to tug him out of the chair, effortlessly taking control of Edge’s body. "I'm going to need a partner," he announced to the room, making his way around to nudge the remaining chairs out of the way. 

One of the human officers slowly lifted a hand. "I... was in a dance club back in high school. I'm a little out of practice though."

"That's fine. After all, I'm supposed to be instructing you." He tried to keep his extroverted charm to a minimum. There was no physical indicator of the change, but that didn’t mean people wouldn’t notice the blatant change in his demeanor. Well, it was supposed to be an undercover position. 

"I'm going to give a sped up version of what it would look like. Obviously for the real thing, I would take more time to properly teach the steps." He walked over and took the woman's hand, at the same time closing his fingers around Edge's and drawing him to the center of the room.

Truthfully, Edge was only visible in Tango's mind, regardless of how real he seemed and felt, meaning he wasn't bound by the limitations of physicality, something he, Cash, and Stretch had been playing around with lately. Stretch believed their minds were compensating for the reality issue, two people existing in the same spot, by rewriting it. Like focusing on something in the foreground, as opposed to something in the background. In one version he could see the female officer, in the other, he could only see Edge.

Edge grunted, clearly having expected to watch the proceedings from the sideline. Tango didn't give him any time to back out.

"We won't be focusing on precision right now, just the basic flow." He lifted their entwined hands into position and wrapped the other around Edge, pulling him closer. "Just follow my instructions and I'll fill in the rest. Place your hand on my shoulder."

The human officer did, with a nervous chuckle as she avoided eye contact from the closeness. Edge did so with reluctance, a glare fitting in place as his hand settled into the proper position beneath his shoulder instead.

"We'll start with four wide steps back-"

Professionally speaking, Tango only taught advanced classes. Often one-on-one instead of as a group, his clients professionals themselves, competitors and performers who traveled far and wide to study under him. But the studio did offer classes to the locals, and one of the biggest selling points was that he would occasionally pop in and take over the classes. So he wasn't unfamiliar with teaching the basics, and he could tell that the human had some familiarity with the subject, more comfortable and accurate about following directions.

But it was nothing compared to Edge. He didn't just listen to Tango's voice, he obeyed his _intent_. Edge moved naturally with him, hitting each step correctly as Tango's proficiency bleed into him, feet pointing where they should be, head turning to the correct side as they spun, even when Tango didn't call those instructions.

He made sure to add in some of his more impressive solo-steps between instructions, since he was supposed to be selling 'Edge's' abilities to the chief, but he couldn't resist a few of the more advanced flourishes; ones that allowed him to pull Edge in close, tight spins, a low dip—thrilled when his partners stoic masked cracked, sockets flying wide with surprise.

[ _His real hands shifted flower bundles back and forth, picking them up and putting them down, just trying to make it look like he was still doing something. Apparently he couldn't arrange them in his sleep._ ]

He wanted to do this properly. Pull out all the stops, his most sensual techniques as he twirled Edge around the floor. Push him until he was flushed, both of them panting, bodies pressing close enough to feel each other's breath before snapping away, completely lost in the music.

But now wasn't the time for that. His movements were limited to the awkward steps of his human partner, having to keep it slow, calling each instruction clearly, so she could follow along properly.  
Besides, some of those moves... would probably earn Edge an unwarranted harassment charge, and they wouldn't want that.

Maybe he would be able to convince his grumpy clustermate to join him for a private dance. It wouldn't be easy, but... Edge would owe him a favor after this, wouldn't he?

_That_ , Tango could make time for.

"Left back as far as you can—and hold." They finished, hands clasped in the air as Tango leaned over him, staring deep into flashing red eye lights. They stilled, breath mixing as Edge stared up at him.

It took probably too long to wrangle their reluctance enough to pull apart from each other. Tango allowed his vision to shift.

The human officer was staring at him owlishly, cheeks blazing, clearly and appropriately dazzled. Tango was used to that look, but he found he wasn't as fond of it aimed at Edge. He stepped back, layering his teaching-voice a little heavier than strictly necessary. "That was wonderful progress, Ma'am. Should I return tomorrow at the same time? Perhaps after your lesson, you could give me a tour of your beautiful house, excreta, excreta..."

He quickly stepped back, letting Edge take control again so he could cross his arms with the appropriate level of gruffness. "How was that?" he asked.

Everyone else was staring as well, a mixed assortment of impressed and bewilderment. Undyne's eyes were bulging, like she'd suddenly become reliant on her gills and couldn't breath. Not that that stopped her mouth from snapping open.

"Wait—Where the actual fuck did _that_ come from!?" Her hands flew up. "What!? Are you taking—fuckin—ballroom lessons on the weekends!? How has this never come up, before—what the fuck!?"

Edge simply gave her a shrug, already accepting that he was going to be hearing about this for the next few weeks, assuming she ever let it go at all, and turned back to the chief. "So? Do I get the part?"

The armadillo let out a tight breath, frustrated, but still clearly astonished that it hadn't been a bluff. "I will... I will _think_ about it, Edge—but don't hold your breath." His finger clacked against the desk in time with his word. "I do not want you on this case, understand?" Edge scowled. "Now sit back down. The rest of you stop gawking! Let's get back on the subject."

Edge returned to the chair, bitterly, although he'd known it was a long shot all along. There were reasons cover IDs tended to be housekeepers and cleaners; he just didn't have access to a skill that would make him _necessary_ for that type of work.

Still, maybe something would come out of it…

[ _"Thank you,"_ ] he said, tone clipped with sharpness.

{ _"Certainly."_ ] Tango hummed, deciding not to mention the way he was refusing to meet his eye, or the soft pink still staining his cheekbones. [ _"You can always rely on me to support you. Besides-"_ ] His finger trailed over Edge's neck. [ _"I've already decided how you can pay me back~."_ ]

Edge jolted, the chair scraping loudly as he did, and Tango broke the connection before he could see the consequences.

Around him, the cousins were still chatting and bustling about. If they noticed that he hadn't made any progress on the arrangements, they made no show of it.

Tango would have to double his effort to make up for it, he thought, rushing to catch up. He faltered a few times anyway, this time genuinely distracted by the memories of holding a certain scarred skeleton in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the harder chapters to write. I’ll admit I know very little about dance, and I'm not sure I did a great job describing the ‘overlapping’ thing... but I hope you like it!


	8. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warnings for vigilantism, violence, implied torture, mentions of children sex trafficking, implied murder.)

_He shouldn’t be there._

On the second floor of the old, abandoned factory building where Edge liked to drag and dispose of his prey. With only three lights still intact across the grimy, dirty work space, flickering like a gasping, dying breath. The wide open silence that echoed of distance screams and tasted of dust too thick to ever fully settle. 

Edge kept the gun level, pressed against the temple of the scumbag he’d just finished interrogating, prepared to erase him from the world and finally get home for the night. However his eyes were fixated on the monster that had appeared behind his captive only a moment before he pulled the trigger. 

_**Papyrus shouldn’t be there.** _

Edge narrowed his sockets. 

He thought he was getting a handle on these little “visits.” They were emotional—triggered when their feelings began to overlap or when there was a need; for help, or advice, or solace. 

But Edge didn’t need help with something like this. And certainly not from someone like Papyrus. Watching the distinct confusion blossom across the softer skeletons face as he looked around the empty room, trying to piece together what Edge was doing there, covered in dust, made it pretty obvious they weren’t currently on the same emotional wavelength either. 

Papyrus looked down at the gun and the sniveling monster strapped to the chair without a hint of fear or terror. Only a mounting perplexion that he directed at Edge. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” 

Edge grit his teeth. 

It had to be Papyrus. It couldn’t have been Slim or Cash. He’d been expecting them to show up one of these days. He was prepared for them. They would understand. Hell, they might want to join. 

He wasn’t prepared for Papyrus. 

“You need to leave,” he said firmly. 

“WHY?” Papyrus asked. 

“W-What…?” The monster sniveled. 

Edge pressed the gun harder against his forehead. “You shut up,” he snarled, glaring back at Papyrus. 

It had to be Papyrus. If it had been Sugar or Coffee, at least they would have known why they needed to leave. What it meant to have a gun pointed at a hostage, his red gloves nearly pink from all the dust. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to look them in the eye again after that, but at least they would leave. 

Papyrus on the other hand… 

“Because I’m telling you that you need to leave.” 

Papyrus was stubborn, compassionate, and forgiving to a colossal fault. He was bursting with innocence and optimistic naivete. It wasn’t going to be easy to get rid of him, but… 

Edge _would not_ do this in front of him. 

“DIDN’T HE TELL YOU WANT YOU WANTED TO KNOW?” Papyrus asked, cocking his head. Edge felt a sickening dread slither around his spine. How much did he know? How much had their stupid connection decided to share? Papyrus didn’t need to see any of this. He shouldn’t know about _any_ of this. _He shouldn’t be here._. “AREN'T YOU GOING TO LET HIM GO NOW?” 

Edge scowled. 

The trapped monster squeezed their eyes tight, blurring out. “Is someone there!? P-Please help me! I don’t want to die! I have a family! I have-“ 

“I told you to shut your trap!” Edge nearly cracked the gun across his head. It should be fine if he screamed. After all, this place would be useless if a little screaming could alert someone, but there was no need to take unnecessary risks. 

He glowered back at Papyrus. 

He didn’t know what that bastard had done. He didn’t know how long Edge had been hunting this particular group down. The Bastard _had_ given him what he wanted, and his reward was that Edge would make it quick. 

“He’s hurt people,” Edge gritted out, not wanting to go into the exact details of what kind of lowlifes he had to work with. 

“No!” the monster shouted, trembling, eyes wide while dust poured from the, frankly, undeservedly mild injuries. “I swear! I never touched the girls! Not once! I couldn’t-I got a little one at home, I wouldn’t-! I just drove the truck!” 

_Just drove the truck._ Nothing but a cog in the machine: pick up the cargo and deliver it to its new owner. Who cares if that cargo was crying for their parents? 

A job’s a job. 

Edge didn’t usually take pleasure in his executions, only a certain satisfaction in knowing he’d gotten some of the more deserving scum off the streets. But he would take great enjoyment in getting rid of this one. 

Unfortunately Papyrus seemed to miss the implication, sockets lighting up. “SEE! AND I’M CERTAIN THAT HE’S MORE THAN LEARNED HIS LESSON AFTER ALL THIS.” He nodded confidently. “HE WON'T BE DOING ANYTHING LIKE WHATEVER HE DID AGAIN.” 

“It’s not that simple,” Edge said, sharply. 

“Please! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Please don’t shoot me!” Heavy sobs filled the room, doing nothing to elicit an ounce of sympathy from his captor. 

Feeling this, Papyrus reaches up to nervously tug on the end of his red scarf. “PLEASE, EDGE. YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS. HE HAS A FAMILY…” 

A family he was willing to throw under the bus to the lunatic with a gun trying to kill him. What if Edge wasn’t satisfied with his death? What if Edge offered him his life in exchange for theirs? He should. Just so Papyrus could see how unworthy this piece of shit was of his forgiveness. He would take it. Bastards like that always did. It made it so much easier to pull the trigger. 

He needed to do this. If Papyrus was going to be a problem in the future, then Edge would have to be able to ignore him. He couldn’t let this fucker back on the street. 

He steeled himself, locking eyes with Papyrus. “This is your last chance. Leave now, or you watch!” 

“No! Please!” 

Papyrus flinched, hands tightening in the fabric. He didn’t leave. Edge could feel it, the unbendable determination that kept him rooted in place, willing to wager every last second on convincing him to change his mind… 

[ _…and the first unsteady rush of fear._ ]

God _FUCKING_ damn it! 

Edge snapped his head back down. “You will not breath a god damn _word_ about what happened here tonight, you understand!?” 

“Yes!” The monster screamed, a sickening look of relief coming to his face. “Never! Oh God-I swear!” 

“You never saw me. You’re going to pack your bags and get the fuck out of my city.” He grabbed a fistful of fur and wrenched the bastards head backwards. “And if you ever even look at another child again, I will find out, and I promise you there won’t be enough dust left for your funeral. Understand?” 

“Yes! Yes! I won’t!” 

Edge despised the proud smile he received as he roughly cut the monster free. “Get. Out.” 

The monster stumbled hard as he scrambled from the chair, his HP probably dwindling into the single digits at this point. If there was any sort of just God he would dust on his own before he made it home. 

The cretin glanced behind him, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of his savor, a move that would have earned him a bullet right between the eyes had there been anyone to see. But there wasn't, as far as he could tell, and that only made him more panicked as he fled out the door. 

Edge scowled. There he went, another cockroach back on the street, scrambling back to their master to spill everything that happened. Edge was under no illusion the bug would keep his word. It wouldn’t take long for someone to hunt him down based on his description. By the end of the week his head would have a bounty on it. He had been so careful, perfectly covering every track so nothing could get back to him or his brother. Now it was all ruined. All because of-

“Are you-?” He scowled to the side only to find that Papyrus had left. No lingering sensation in the back of his thoughts. Something else had demanded his attention and he’d just left, believing his mission complete. 

Edge snatched up his gun, bolting out the door. There was a good chance that Papyrus would find out—there weren’t a lot of rules for the way their connection worked—but that didn’t matter, he thought as he raced down the corridor. All that mattered was that he wasn’t there now. 

He was not going to let that bastard escape!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the first scenes that I wrote for this series, and initially was not supposed to be part of Edge's introduction. But it just kind of worked here, so that's how that worked. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Well it's been seven days and I _still_ haven't finished the last chapter(s) so... lets see if I can have them finished on time! Tomorrow! Maybe... ^~^;;;;;


	9. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one day late! This is the final chapter.

“Flour?” 

“CHECK!” Papyrus declared, slapping the bag down on his kitchen table with enough force to make everyone flinch—expecting it to rupture and cover them all in white powder [ _or feel like it, anyways_ ]. Instead the bag held strong, powered by the force of Papyrus’s 100-watt smile. 

“Oh Good,” Sugar said with a laugh, confirming the others had also met the requirements before moving on. “Eggs?”

“FRESH FROM THE STORE!” Papyrus exclaimed, presenting the carton with a flourish. Edge snagged his wrist before Papyrus could make a repeat performance—taking the container to place on the counter normally. Papyrus was neither offended nor put off by this. “A WONDERFUL IDEA! WE WOULDN’T WANT THEM TO BREAK JUST YET, NYEHEHEH!” 

Edge grit his teeth, refusing to be charmed by that optimism. His soul seemed to miss the memo, so instead he pointedly turned to look out the window.

[ _Rain pelted hard against the top of the cruiser, as cars rushed by on the highway. He didn’t usually get stuck on traffic monitoring posts, but he’d picked up another officer's shift to avoid whatever disaster Red was sure to have waiting at home. It was boring work, especially given the rain, but he did have other things to keep his attention._ ] 

“There’s only three in here,” Tango said, examining the mostly empty egg carton he’d pulled out of Stretch’s fridge. “...is that going to be enough?” 

Stretch groaned, sagging down further in the chair, nearly sliding right off. “does that mean i have to run to the store?” He perked up a bit. “or does that mean i can _egg_ -stract myself from this situation?” There was a sensual chorus of well-deserved groans, and Stretch nodded along satisfied. 

“You can see the corner store from your doorstep,” Tango scolded lightly, placing a hand on his hip. “But certainly, we can wait if you need to run out. I’ll come with you.” 

“you’d be coming with me anyways…” Stretch rolled his eye lights. He didn’t really want to be doing this anyways. But he also did. A little. Sorta. Only because they were all doing it, and he wanted to be involved. But he could be just as involved sitting right on his ass, he didn’t need to join in the actual cooking.

Still, Tango wanted to participate, and given that his fridge was packed to the brim with leftovers from his own party, it made more sense for his to use Stretch’s kitchen, and Stretch’s body, and—hey—since Tango was the one using his body there really _wasn’t_ any reason for Stretch to have to get off his ass, and-  
“Will three be enough?”

“Three Is Perfect,” Sugar said. “Exa-... Just The Correct Number We Need.” 

“ah!” Stretch shouted, with a point. “i heard that. you’re only postponing the inevitable.” 

“Next On The List,” Sugar hurried on, “Sugar?”

“right here~!” Arms wrapped around his waist and Cash lifted him right off the ground, ignoring the startled shout and all flailing limbs. “got all the sugar we need right here. feels like about—geez, sweetie, what’d’ya weigh, like ten pounds?” 

“I Do Not!” Sugar shouted, the words dissolving into laughter as Cash spun him around. “Put Me Down!” 

“i’m stirrin the sugar! that’s gotta be a step, right?” 

“Cash!” 

[ _Cash smiled softly into his sleeves where they were folded under him, as he rested at the bar. It was still on the early side for him, so the bar was quiet. His drink sat half touched in front of him, most of the condensation long since soaked into the napkin at the base._

 _No cooking for him. Someone would throw him a party. They always did, some client with too much time on their hands, a sponsor whose name he’d forgotten, or one of those dozens of ‘friends’ he kept around just in case. He was tempted to head home, claim sick or something so he could spend the day with the only people that actually mattered._ ]

He settled Sugar down, holding gently as Sugar stumbled so he wouldn’t fall. 

[ _Turning over, he looked down at the other monster nursing a drink at the bar. It was a different bar, a different town, a different time of day, but that didn’t matter much. “come on, grumpy. aren’t ya gonna join us?”_

_Clicking his tongue, Slim drained his glass, ignoring him. Tossing a few coins on the counter, he slid off the stool and marched out the door, like he could escape them by running._

_“don’t leave mad, sweetheart!” Cash called, but otherwise didn’t try to stop him.  
There was something there, something hurting. Slim was the one calling out to them. He’d be back. Sometimes, they didn't seem to have much of a choice._]

“Coffee?” Sugar asked. “Everything Okay?”  
In his dump of a fourth floor apartment, Coffee continued his search through the discarded trash kicked beneath the kitchen table as to be out of the way. Beside him was his shopping bag, turned completely inside out, the contents piled neatly on the only clean spot on the table--all of them, bar one.

He _bought_ sugar. He remembered grabbing it off the shelf. He remembered crossing it off the list. He remembered it getting scanned.

But It wasn’t in the bag, or on the floor, or anywhere near the front door. He peeked out into the hallway, hoping to maybe see it somewhere on the stairwell, wondering if he really was so oblivious that he could have left it in his bike, even though he always double checked the basket before coming in. But it wasn't there, and he reluctantly returned to the kitchen empty-handed.

It must not have made it into the bag at check out.

Pulling out his notebook, he wrote _’sugar’_ and crossed it out, holding it up for them too see. He must have forgotten to bag it at check out. His sockets prickled with frustrated tears, and he tried to blink them away.

Another dumb mistake. Running to the corner store would take all of ten minutes, but cost almost three times as much as the good grocery store across town. Even if the others were willing to wait for him to take the longer trip, he wasn't sure he could scrape together enough for another purchase. He was already over his food budget, because Sugar had promised to help him utilize it properly. They were supposed to make bread and biscuits and whatever to get him through the week. He didn’t even know if they could do that now without sugar. 

“Oh, It’s Alright Coffee,” Sugar reassured quickly, patting a pastel container with a pretty floral label across the front. “I Have Plenty! You Can Just-” He faltered. “...Oh… Right... “ 

Coffee sank back to the floor, not bothering to respond as he folded up. Another stupid mistake and now, not only was he out money and food, but he wasn't going to be able to cook with them. They'd been talking about it all week, and he'd been looking forward to it…

He could feel Cash eyeing him, the offer on the tip of his tongue. They’d already had that conversation, and Coffee didn’t want to have it again. 

[ _ ~~’borrow’~~_

_“it’s not even that much. Just enough to cover your rent. Enough so you can find a better place than this dump.”_

_~~ ’borrow’ ~~ _

_“It’s not even--it’s a gift!”_

_~~’gift’~~ _

_“I’m serious coffee, give me your account number. i’ll transfer it first thing in the morning.”_

_~~’account’~~ _

_“...you don’t have a **bank account!?** ”_]

Papyrus peered under the table at him. "MAYBE THERE'S SOME IN THE CABINET? I'M ALWAYS FORGETTING I ALREADY HAVE SOME, SO THERE'S ALWAYS ABOUT EIGHT OR NINE OPEN BAGS IN MY PANTRY!"

Beside him, Edge and Sugar twitched.

Coffee cast a skeptical look at the cabinets. He doubted that... As much as he preferred his morning caffeine sweetened, he'd been drinking it plain for almost a year. The coffee was already one unnecessary purchase, and he went through nearly a bag a week. Once upon a time he used to sneak sugar packets from the gas station, but he was too scared to do that anymore after one of the managers caught him and yelled at him.

"I CAN CHECK FOR YOU," He offered, and Coffee shook his head.

 _'i'll look'_ he scribbled down, before scrambling up to go hunting.

Cash watched him with a narrow socket, before strolling over to Stretch with a smirk. "this seat taken?"

Stretch cocked his head. "what sea-oof!" Cash all but fell across his lap, draping his legs over the arm of the chair and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "o-oh... _that_ seat." He laughed, despite the flush creeping up his neck, and shifted to sit up a little straighter, trying to get them both more comfortably settled.

"figured i'd _seat_ -uate myself." Cash cackled at the pun and Stretch could feel every movement. Like he was truly there, sitting at Sugar's dining table, holding a squirming, mildly intoxicated Cash, instead of-

[ _-very alone in his kitchen, the air a little too chilled from the AC. The only sound the clatter of bowls and cartons as his body pulled out ingredients, or shuffled through drawers for the measuring cups., and the dishwasher rattling with the load Tango had cleared out from his sink earlier._ ]

He slowly slid his arms around that warm waist, pulling him closer. He told himself it was just to keep Cash from falling, and had nothing to do with grounding himself in _this_ reality. The comforting one, the welcoming one.

The laughter petered out as Cash leaned into him, casting a sultry look towards their companions. “besides, this seems like the best seat in the house~” 

Stretch followed his gaze to where Tango was washing his hands at the sink, leaning forward so his hips were quite nicely displayed for their viewing pleasure. It certainly _was_ an excellent vantage point.

Apparently sensing their leers through the bond, Tango turned and flicked them both with water. They flinched away, giggling like the children they were while Tango reached for a towel.

“I suppose I can’t hold you accountable,” he said, with a mock sigh. “I’m fairly certain my… figure has won me more than one competition.” 

“I'm fairly certain your figure had nothing to do with it,” Edge disagreed, carefully leveling a cup of flour, only to jolt and get it everywhere when a hand skirted across the back of his pelvis. “Tango!” 

Tango threw up both hands, fingers splayed to show his innocence; a move that would have been far more effective if they couldn't see the mischief hiding behind his guiltless expression. “I’m so sorry, Officer. We were discussing best ‘seats’ in the house and-...” 

“in his defense-” Stretch added when Tango trailed into fake meekness. “-your ass in that uniform should be _illegal_ ~” 

Edge snapped to him, but his retort was interrupted by a loud clap from Papyrus. “OH YES, EDGE! IT DOES MAKE YOU LOOK SUPER COOL!” 

Edge whipped back, a new counter ready, but this time faltering at Papyrus's sincere excitement. His hands were clasped in front of him, eye lights practically shining with a genuine admiration.

"..." Getting to watch that aggravation melt into a reluctant, scowl-y blush was like candy to everyone else involved. Finally, Edge just started brushing the flour off his ~~Papyrus's~~ clothing, with a gruff "Thank you."

Over by the cabinets, Coffee was rewarded for his efforts with the sight of a familiar logo on the very top shelf. It was wedged behind a sea of half-empty canisters and boxes of cereal dust, which he batted out of the way. Straining, he pushed onto his toes, scrapping at the package as he tried to cox it forward without pushing it back instead. His brow furrowed. He lived in such a crappy apartment, why were the cabinets so high?

A large, scarred hand passed his, reaching the package easily. Coffee could feel the presence behind him, close but not touching, [ _never touching,_ ] before Slim pulled away from him, sugar in hand. He offered it and Coffee snatched it up, holding it tight to his chest as he squirmed.

"wait," Stretch said, with a frown. "how the fuck did that work?"

It was a good question. Good enough for Coffee's confusion to disrupt the connect, and he was alone again in his mess-of-a-kitchen. His vantage point was much higher than usual as he looked around. Apparently, his body had climbed up on the counter in order to reach—leaving him to fidget as he tried to figure out how to get back down.

It was only a brief hesitation—the knowledge that even just hopping off with his level of coordination would still probably result in him tripping or twisting an ankle—and the connection was reestablished. Slim was already there, hands up in offer.

And it was only an offer. One for Coffee to accept or reject of his own accord. Each other, they touched without hesitation; rarely restraining from any form of contact, from friendly shoulder bumps to the far-less-friendly teasing, but never for Coffee. They moved past him like a tide, naturally flowing around his space without breaking it.

Coffee had never had to explain himself, and the others had never asked. Slim would catch him, if he fell like an idiot trying to navigate his own way off a standard-sized-counter, but otherwise Slim wouldn't touch him unless he reached out first.

Coffee couldn't tell how much of it was that they had never broken that trust, and how much was just the bond between their souls, but Coffee found it _easy_ to lean forward and take that offer. To clutch the bag with both hands and let Slim lift him off the counter.

Once his feet settled on the ground, Coffee could feel an immediate change as Slim pulled back. A unpleasant sense of distance that usually came before he bolted, and Coffee quickly blurted out "thank you-!"

Everyone's attention shifted to him. Silence settled into the room, as Coffee felt all those eyes honing on on him. But it didn't make him anxious. It was a soft feeling. Gentle.

[ _Kind, proud, delighted..._ ]

Instead, Slim was the one to fluster. He was quick to be distracted by anything else else in the room, but Coffee could feel the burn of magic like it came from his own cheekbones, and the way he choked on surprise. "-'s... 's no problem..."

Coffee lit up at that weakness, ducking back into Slim's line of sight to hold up the bag with an innocent look. "cook with us?" he asked, softly.

It may have been the very first time he'd been able to speak out loud in front of them, but that didn't mean he was above using it to his advantage.

From their chair Cash and Stretch flashed him a thumbs up.

From in front of him, Slim flashed them all a glare. It said: 'i can see right fucking through you.'

But the hesitation said: 'and it's working anyways.'

"Are you talking to yourself?" snarked a voice behind him.

Coffee jumped, whirling around and stumbling back until he crashed into Slim. Two strong hands came up to hover supportively around his shoulders—still not touching even as he stood firm, a solid wall for Coffee to press back against.

Coffee shook his head rapidly, refusing to look up from the floor.

His roommate flicked slitted eyes over the empty kitchen. "...yeah, okay." Anthropomorphic lizards were particularly expressive with how skeptically they could arch their eyebrows, while he leaned against the doorframe. "Anyways, my girlfriends coming over at five and I need to not be...here." He made a vague gesture around the room. "...or at least not being weird."

There was a general wave to distaste from the others, but Coffee just nodded, used to those types of instructions. He was quite good at staying quiet and out of the way when the need arose. 

“What are you doing anyways?” His attention was on the ingredients littering the cleared off table, but spun around when Coffee pulled out his notebook. "Ugh, never mind. I don't care. Just be done by five." With that he stomped back up the stairs, shouting down. “And rents due Friday! Don’t be late this time!” 

The door slammed shut upstairs and Coffee relaxed, spinning back around to an agitated Slim. He held the bag up in front of him, trying to look as innocently hopeful as possible. If Slim could sense that the interruption had made him far too anxious to speak anymore and that happened to aid in convincing him—Coffee would take it, allowing Slim to herd him back towards the table and stand protectively between him and the door, like that would stop any other threats to the domestic atmosphere.

The others eased a little as they both returned to the relative safety of the cluster. Sugar was quick to try and get them back on track, brightly confirming everyone had the remaining ingredients, scooting a little closer to more directly assist Coffee with his more limited ingredients.

"Are You Certain You Don't Want To Make A Cake As Well?" Sugar encouraged gently.

"naw," he muttered, hunching his shoulders in hopes they'd forget he was there. "s'not my birthday, anyways."

"oh, yeah," Cash scoffed. "of course. every single one of us was born on the exact same day-"

"-down to the minute," Stretch threw in, having run all the numbers the day before, factoring in the time-zone differences.

'-except for you-" Cash continued with a pointed finger, "-and sugar."

"My Birthday Is On Christmas," Sugar repeated, proudly. Once they were old enough to realize they were supposed to have one, Blood had let him pick any birthday he wanted. He'd picked Christmas on purpose, knowing how hard Blood already worked to give him a good one. He didn't want to make a whole other day that his brother had to struggle to pull together enough to celebrate.

Blood had initially chosen "yesterday" as his birthday—until Sugar burst into tears over missing it and having not gotten him a present—and swiftly changed it to the week after.

Sugar got in trouble for using all of his savings to buy him their first real happy meal.

It was a good memory.

Slim looked over at Cash, amber eye lights glinting as he just barely managed to keep his expression from changing. “Yup."

Cash snorted, snuggling in closer against Stretch. “uh-huh. you know what i think?“ He let his tongue lull out, curling it suggestively. “i think you’re just tryin’ to get one of us to come over there and shut you up~“

Slim startled, and Coffee quickly thwarted any attempts to flee by shoving the flour into his hands so he could scoop it out. Slim was clearly distressed by such an efficient trap.

"Do you mind?" Edge muttered.

Tango—who, jealous of Cash and Stretch’s snuggle time, was now leaning against him, arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder—hummed. "Not at all. You're not bothering me."

"I meant,” he said, with a halfhearted attempt to shake him off. “Would you get off of me before you make me mess up Papyrus’s cake?” 

“FEAR NOT, EDGE! I HAPPEN TO BE A CONNOISSEUR IN THE CULINARY ARTS. YOU NEED NOT WORRY WORRY YOURSELF IN THE SLIGHTEST!” 

Despite the Tango-straight-jacket, Edge was able to lunge in time to stop him from pouring a whole bottle of vanilla into the bowl. 

“looks like that's going to be an uphill _batter_ ,” Stretch chimed in, melting a little inside as Cash drunkenly giggled against his collar. 

“I FORMALLY REQUEST THAT YOU DESIST IMMEDIATELY.” 

Cash snickered again. “yeah, stretch. shut your cake-hole.”

“I don’t think either of them deserve cake when we’re finished,” Edge said, with a cold stare. 

“Agreed,” Sugar replied, his voice sympathetic and pitying. 

“now wait a second-!!” 

“but tango’s using my kitchen-!!”

────✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦────

The banter continued for hours while they baked. At one point Sugar took over helping Papyrus, so that Edge could focus on getting Cash’s real body home from the bar, and Stretch fell asleep twice while leaning on the table, but they were all together by the time they’d finished the icing. Even Slim eventually joined in, Coffees gentle but insistent prompting not giving him much room to refuse, helping mostly with the stirring, or searching for the correct measuring cups.

They’d all made a mess. Some of them less so than others, Tango was fluent in the art of cleaning while he cooked, but everything on Papyrus’s end did ultimately end up covered in flour, including Papyrus himself, despite Edge’s best efforts. 

Most of them were running short on time when they finished. Blood would be home soon to wonder what was going on, Stretch had a call with Blue soon to celebrate, and Coffee had a roommate to hide from. 

But there was time to sing, with Tango, Papyrus, and Cash leading the tune. Sugar hummed along, a little too anxious of his voice, even with the others encouragement, and Coffee clapped softly in rhythm. Slim didn’t join, but he didn’t leave either, regretting it when Papyrus reached over to grab him and Sugar, making sure neither of them thought they were getting out of the best part. 

“ON THE COUNT OF THREE!” 

“don’t forget to make a wish.” 

“ONE!” 

“I wish this moment would never end.”

“TWO!”

“You’re Not Supposed To Say It Out Loud, Tango!” 

“THREE!” 

They all leaned forward, and with the same breath, blew out all the candles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my first Clustertale story! I plan to do a lot more with this AU, so please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Next "chapter" will be the explanation for the powers and character summaries.


	10. Clustertale AU Summary/Notes

## AU Summary

Eight souls across the world, suddenly find their minds connecting. This is mostly just an excuse for poly-flavored mind-orgys. This AU is open if anyone wants to try it out too, and feel free to change up the members in the cluster for different dynamics. 

I won’t be telling this story in a linear fashion. I’ve set up the premise, and listed the characters' general stories below, but I’ll only be telling specific stories from this universe. What happens in between stories will be largely left up to inference.

* * *

## Terms & Powers Explained

Abilities are the same as in the show, but the show is unclear on how certain things work, so this may not be quite the same as others would interpret it.

#### Sentate/Sensoriom

A different species from humans or monsters, a sensate is an evolved individual born at the exact same time as seven others, who’s souls and minds are connected and able to link to each other from anywhere in the world.

#### Cluster

A group of eight sensates. Although unknowingly connected from birth, a cluster is properly “born” when someone from a different cluster “gives birth” to them. This can seemingly happen at any point in life. Once “born” the cluster will become aware of each other and develop their abilities.

#### Hive mind

Although the individuals retain their sense of self, clusters are mentally connected, able to share thoughts, feelings, memories, and sensations. They do this automatically, without intent, but a more experienced sensate may be able to control what information is passed. Because of this, cluster-mates tend to have a high number of tastes and preferences that are completely identical—such as taking their coffee the same way, or smoking the same brand of cigarettes—and a similar moral compass, although they do not completely overlap.

#### Sharing

Cluster-mates can inhabit and take control of each other’s bodies. Doing this they are able to share skills and abilities with each other. While “sharing” cluster-mates will see the true person who is performing the action, not the body that is doing it, but people outside the cluster will notice no physical difference. More than one person can share the same body, and switching can happen in an instant if different skills are needed. When one of a cluster is in danger they will subconsciously reach out for a cluster-mate that is more suited to handle the issue. This can happen against both their wills. Extremely second-natured skills may be shared automatically without input from either party, such as native languages, but most skills can only be performed by the person that actually knows it.

#### Visiting

Members of a cluster can astral project to each other. To a limited degree, they _feel_ as though they are actually there and are able to interact with each other. Multiple sensates can visit at once, and while visiting, they are able to “interact” with items in the real world as long as the physical body present is able to perform the task. Cluster-mates will only see the person performing the task, while outsiders will see only the body present. The line between visiting and sharing is very blurry. 

_For example:_ If Papyrus were to suddenly feel dizzy, and Edge were to visit and carry him to the bathroom, both of them would only see Edge carrying Papyrus to the bathroom. However Sans downstairs would only see Papyrus walking himself to the bathroom (Sans may instead see Papyrus walking to the bathroom with his arms outstretched like he’s carrying an invisible ghost. Whether actions are performed subtly or obviously seems entirely dependent on which would be funnier at the moment). If Papyrus were to collapse in his room unconscious, Edge would not be able to carry him to the bathroom, or interact with the world. Strangely however, cluster-mates can still visit even when one of them is unconscious and observe the world around them. 

While visiting sensates can touch each other and even have sex. This may manifest as the body touching itself, but can also happen entirely in the mind. A sensate may even be able to experience full arousal-and-release purely mentally, without their real bodies becoming aroused. Because it’s all mental, clothing can be removed without the real body needing to take them off. 

Since they are not physically there, their astral-forms are not 100% stuck to physical limitations, such as when Tango danced with Edge, even though that space was occupied by a real person.

#### Multitasking

Sensates can perform tasks or hold conversation with their real bodies at the same time while they are visiting or sharing with someone else. This seems to be just multitasking, making it harder to do with anything that takes more concentration.

#### Other Clusters

Sensates from a different cluster that has made direct eye-contact with another sensate can visit the sensate they made contact with (not the whole cluster). They cannot share outside their own cluster, and so cannot interact with the world, but can interact with each other.

#### [ _This thing_ ]

[ _This is a somewhat narrative catch-all for anything transmitted through the cluster bond. Information, emotions, flashbacks, and to help simplify in scenes where the setting keeps changing back and forth. [“I may put dialog in these brackets if it seems REALLY unclear the dialog is supposed to be only heard by the cluster member.”] Brackets will not be used if I describe that the scene changed in the narrative._

_This setup will probably change when I come up with something better. I’m not super digging the look since I started posting chapters._ ]

* * *

## Characters

***Spoilers ahead, but _mostly_ things that won’t be explicitly explained, and are kinda important background info. (Or are plot points I just don’t have plans to go into, because they sound cool on paper but I'm just here for the _romance~_ )**

#### Papyrus

America | Daycare Worker | SPEAKS LIKE THIS

    Papyrus has tried just about every part-time job in town, from waiter to cashier to custodial worker. He’s had a paper route, volunteered at the shelter, tried his hand at journalism… he liked all of them well enough and he likes his work at the daycare currently. 

    But none of them were ever a proper fit. Papyrus never really did fit in anywhere. Not in clubs in school or with the people around town. But that was okay. He had his brother and he was happy with his lot. Content, even if he was a little bit lonely. Even if he dreamed about finding someone who would appreciate just how cool he really is. 

**Languages:** English, Hands  
 **Family:** Sans - An overprotective older brother, Sans is the first brother to learn about the cluster—and the only one to learn _during_ the events of the canon story—after an incident where Papyrus couldn’t feasibly hide it any longer. Sans approves of the relationship, although tentatively and, like a nervous parent, demanded their cell numbers so he could check in with them if something happened. He mostly ends up annoying them with memes.   
**Medical Notes:** N/A  
 **Additional Info:**

  * Papyrus lives in a simple two story house, in a nice neighborhood, with Sans. 
  * Has a lot of practical skills but very little social experience. 



* * *

#### Stretch

England | Scientist | speaks like this

    Stretch knows exactly why he’s so fucked up. A certified child-genius—with all the mental issues that come with that; parents that died when he was young—and all the mental issues that came with _that_ ; having to raise his baby brother, while working, and still going to school— _and all the mental issues that came along with that_ ; and fighting tooth-and-nail to drag himself out of the hole when all those issues reared their ugly heads at once, resulting in a huge mental breakdown that nearly got Blue taken away from him. 

    But things are better now. He’s got meds that work okay, a boring but well paying job in his field, and his mental health is... stable. There’s nothing else he wants, no goals to achieve, and with Blue all grown up and out of the house: he’s all alone. What else can he do, but continue. Keep up the routine so that Blue won’t worry, go home to an empty bed or charm his way into a stranger’s for a moment’s relief, and just… embrace the monotony until he eventually faded away.

    Stretch would rather continue his self-imposed isolation then let anyone worry about him, so having a forced mental connection with seven people who only want him to be happy is probably a good thing. Plus there’s always more research to be done on this exciting phenomenon! Or new tests he could run! Or-! 

**Languages:** English  
 **Family:** Blue - Stretch’s little brother. He left home for college and followed his dream to travel the world, saving as many people as he can. Blue is well-aware and vigilant about his brother's mental health, willing to abandon his work to return home if Stretch needed him, so Stretch never told him how badly his leaving affected him.  
 **Medical Notes:** Depression, Anxiety, History of other mental health issues, Smoker  
 **Additional Info:**

  * Stretch lives in a large town house, left to him and Blue by their parents. 



* * *

#### Edge

Hong Kong | Cop | Speaks like this

    Edge never had an issue taking the law into his own hands. Even before he joined the academy he had a habit of taking care of problems, doing his best to keep his neighborhood safe for him and his brother. After joining the force, he found it even easier.

    He didn’t become a cop to enforce stupid policies. He doesn’t care about things like civil infractions, suppressing rebellions, and detaining radicals. He wants to know why every time he manages to get a truly _sick_ bastard in cuffs, suddenly his evidence is “inconclusive” or “mishandled” and they are back on the street before their cocky mouths have even stopped running! He’s watched the worst kinds of abusers, rapists, and murderers get off without even a _slap on the wrist_.

    Edge thinks it’s his responsibility to save everyone because no one else will, and so that no one else has too. The others think the weight of the world might be too much for him to carry.

 **Languages:** Cantonese, Mandarin, English  
 **Family:** Red - Edge’s older brother. Although close in their youth, in an effort to protect the other, Red hid his underground involvements and Edge hid his vigilante moonlighting, causing a tense rift between them. After discovering each other's secret, Edge is able to start repairing their relationship with some guidance from his cluster.   
**Medical Notes:**   
**Additional Info:**

  * Lives in a discreet, two bedroom apartment over a busy restaurant, with Red. It's loud and bright, but the price and location was initially too good to pass up, and they have long since gotten used to it. All of the entrances have been heavily fortified. 
  * Edge's partner on the force is Undyne, who secretly hosts a surprisingly popular youtube channel.



* * *

#### Sugar

American, Current: Canada | Baker | Speaks Like This

    Born into poverty, Sugar only had a few blurry memories of his mother. A pretty smile, a song she would sing as they all huddle together for warmth beneath a secluded underpass, and the way she would cry when she thought they were asleep.

    He doesn't remember what happened to her…

    Blood did his best to take care of them, scraping together what food he could, and doing what he could to keep Sugar safe. But for most of their lives Sugar remembered being scared, and sick, and cold, and... very, _very_ hungry. 

    They were nearly adults when they were picked up by a social service and rehabilitated. The program was rigorous, but they were able to stay together and the second their paperwork was finalized, they hopped the border, hoping Canada would be the "better place" they'd always dreamed about.

    For the _most_ part it has been _significantly_ better.

 **Languages:** English, some French  
 **Family:** Blood - An overprotective older brother.   
**Medical Notes:** Near-sighted (glasses), History of Starvation and Psychosis, Body Issues, Anxiety  
 **Additional Info:**

  * Rents a small apartment with Blood. This is the first one they’ve had with two bedrooms.
  * i OriGinALLy waNTed SUGar tO speak liKe tHIS But, whILe A coOl CoNCEpt, i THOUgHt IT wOULd bE a LiTtlE disTraCtiNG TO read IN THe long rUn. 
  * Sugar is either the tallest or the shortest of the cluster, and despite anything I write with the narrative to the contrary, I refuse to make a decision about this. 



* * *

#### Cash

Ecuador | Various, Prostitute | speaks like this 

    Cash ran away the second he was out of stripes and never looked back. Not that anyone cared. He clawed his way up from the dirt, learning how to hook and hustle until he was welcomed at the very ritziest hostels, with his choice of the clientele. 

    Wealthy clients came with certain unexpected perks, mostly in the form of shitty, drunk pillow-talk worth a fortune in the right hands. But also unintentional lessons on how to game the stock market, the ins and outs of business, invitations to high roller poker games, and—for those extra _special_ assholes—all sorts of fun blackmail~ 

    Despite that, Cash lives mostly to his means. His closet is a mix of fine tailored suits and lavish dresses gifted to him from various sugar mommies and daddies—and just whatever happened fit him from the secondhand-discount rack. He has a high-quality, memory foam mattress, which sits on the floor of his teeny studio apartment, with sheets that he _found_. Money means power, and he doesn’t like to spend a cent if he can avoid it. 

    Or… he’d just never had anything he actually wanted to spend it on. Now he’s thankful for it. And slightly irritated that his cluster won’t let him shower them with all the presents and luxury that they so obviously deserve.

 **Languages:** Spanish, English  
 **Family:** None  
 **Medical Notes:** Blind in one eye (R), Smoker, Depression  
 **Additional Info:**

  * Lives in one of the apartment buildings he owns, in the smallest and only studio he didn’t bother fixing up to rent out. 



* * *

#### Coffee

America | Package Runner, Various | speaks like this, _‘writes like this’_

    Shy and sweet, Coffee was a popular choice for adoption and bounced from home to home, never landing in one place long enough to settle. He was labeled a 'problem child,' who refused to talk, prone to frustration and outbursts. The second he was old enough, they flushed him from the system and washed their hands of him.

    No one wanted him, so it was no surprise he fell in with the first people that gave him a place to belong. They were friendly. And welcoming. So he told himself they were good people. That they weren't taking advantage of him and that the packages they made him deliver were perfectly normal, completely legal packages.

    And besides, they did pay him for it. Unable to hold a proper job, his deliveries were the only reliable source of income between the odd jobs he picked up on craigslist. Even when the consequences for failing to deliver them were…

    ...extreme…

    But that was okay, because they were his friends.

    (Getting rid of these "friends" is the first thing his cluster needs to do.)

 **Languages:** English  
 **Family:** None  
 **Medical Notes:** Autistic, Semi-verbal, PTSD, Anxiety, History of Abuse  
 **Additional Info:**

  * Rents a room in a crappy apartment, with two roommates who are generally assholes. 
  * Can't drive; usually takes the bus or rides his bicycle. 



* * *

#### Tango

Italy | Competitive Dancer, Dance Instructor | Speaks like this

    Tango won his first dance competition when he was eight, and by the time he was eighteen he'd lost count of them. He's always given his all to the things he loved, and he made a promise that he would never lose that passion. That he would live his life to the fullest and without regrets.  
No matter what happened.

    And he lives his life by that motto. He's never let the past slow him down, or stop him from doing what he wanted. After school, he moved to Barcelona and then to Paris to work on his dancing. From there he stayed a few month in India, before backpacking across Thailand. It was his time in California when he realized his interest in teaching, and finally moving back home to open a dance studio of his own.

    He knows he didn't take the time to mourn properly, but he's accepted it and moved on. And as long as nothing else ever goes wrong ever, he'll be completely fine!

 **Languages:** Italian, English  
 **Family:** Large extended family - very well off (Tango grew up a little rich boy~) often hosting various parties and events that Tango assists with.  
Muffet - Deceased.  
 **Medical Notes:**   
**Additional Info:**

  * Lives in a high class, modern apartment 
  * Wears two matching rings on a chain around his neck. 
  * When creating this AU, I wanted to add at least one under-used Pap to the mix. Originally, it was Lust!Papyrus, and many of the stories were written with him in mind. However, since most of the stories are sex-driven, a characters whose main motivation is sex seemed a little repetitive, especially with Cash and Stretch filling out their respective roles. 
  * Since most of the stories were already drafted, it was hard to switch him out with someone that wouldn’t change the group dynamic. I considered Poppy as a proper Nigerian prince, Twist, and Ace, before remembering my love for Dancetale. Lust’s roles were divided between Tango, Cash, or Stretch, and I was able to do a lot with the dancing thing. Plus Tango is VERY underused. 
  * Two weeks after changing Lust with Tango, there was a huge boom of Lustverse OCs on Twitter and I was like: “ Da fuck!?” 
  * (I then briefly seriously considered switching him with Pepper or Oniichan, but ultimately decided against it.) 



* * *

#### Slim

Russia | Contract Killer | speaks like this 

    Slim doesn’t remember anything from before he and his brother arrived at the compound. Trained as child-soldiers, they were put under a cruel regiment, punished harshly for stepping out of line, and forced to become killers. His only light in those times was his brother, Razz. But after a mission that went south, Slim was left alone. Broken and empty, Slim continued his training, robotically following any order thrown his way. 

    His blind obedience was mistaken for loyalty, and he was eventually singled out to be moved to more advanced training. With nothing to distract him, Slim easily picked up every skill taught to him—from a wide array of weaponry, to social and electronic infiltration. When they finally released him for a testrun, Slim made sure that _no one_ was left alive to track him down again. 

    Contract killing paid well enough, and gave him something to do. Between clients he sought out anything he could to fill the void, endulging in drugs, sex, alcohol, and anything else he could get his hands on. 

    Although initially resistant to his cluster, their presence eventually motivates him to clean up, and with their help, make it his mission to track down everyone involved with the organization that took his brother's life. 

**Languages:** Russian, English, German, French  
 **Family:** Razz - Deceased   
**Medical Notes:** Smoker, Recovering Drug Addict, Depression  
 **Additional Info:**

  * Slim often moves around, renting small apartments by the month or crashing at motels. He keeps anything important in a secure storage facility. 



* * *

### Questions

**Are you aware there is already a Clustertale?**

    Yes! Actually, there are several: An AU where ‘nothing makes sense’, a Steven Universe crossover, one that's actually similar to this (which makes me wonder if they got the idea from Sense8 as well), etc… so I’m not particularly concerned about throwing mine in the mix.

    More so, I spent a whole year calling it Clustertale before I even thought to look up if someone else had used it, so I don’t plan to change it. But I’m happy to slap on a clarifying tag like the SwapFells—Red, Purple, Gold—I just haven’t thought of a good one yet.

 **Are you aware “______” doesn’t make sense giving the characters culture/profession?**

    I was not! Thank you for letting me know. I am doing some research and hope to be accurate, but I’m not an expert in anything. Please let me know if you have an alternative that might make more sense.

 **Are you aware if it’s morning for A it would be midnight for B?**

    I’m… going to be a little… lenient with the whole ‘planets are round’ thing… the show seems pretty lenient with it… please suspend your dissbeeeeeeelief~~!!! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you have any questions! I will update this information as I needed.


End file.
